


Emma Swan, Professional Cuddler

by misscanteloupe



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff and Crack, Slow Burn, endless pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9915173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscanteloupe/pseuds/misscanteloupe
Summary: Come Wednesday night, Regina has something akin to a bucket list written out to get over her nerves. It looks something like this -1. Get Henry through college2. Date someone who isn’t a buffoon3. Marry that person and hope they never turn into a buffoon4. Destroy meninism5. Cuddle a strangerOr, in which Regina gives in to her lonely plight and hires a professional cuddler. AU Swan Queen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is mostly finished, so updates should be about every 2 or so days.
> 
> This started off as just a oneshot, but then got out of hand. If you've read my other story Wedding Crasher, you'll find some of the same humor, because I'm an unoriginal piece of shit

“Who the hell are you?”

She doesn’t mean to answer the door with those five words. She doesn’t mean to open the door at all. But here’s the thing. There are three things Regina has known to despise for as long as she can remember - burnt lasagna, real estate agents, and her ex-fiancé.

None of which are standing at her doorway this late at night, although random stranger with blonde hair and a hideous red jacket could surely make the list.

“Ms. Mills. It's nice to meet you,” the blonde greets, ignoring the (admittedly hostile) welcome altogether. It takes less than two seconds for Regina to decide the woman’s face would look better with a door in front of it, and two and a half for said woman to introduce herself.

“My name is Emma.”

Regina frowns. “And I should care why?”

And just like that, the smile on the woman’s face quickly turns uncomfortable.

“Uh… Your sister, Zelena, gave me a call,” she explains. “She sent in an application for you. I work for a company called Snuggle Buddies. She said you were looking for company, if you catch my drift.”

At Regina’s raised brow, the woman - _Emma -_ finally elaborates.

“I know this might sound weird to most people, but… I’m a professional cuddler.”

And that’s the final straw before Regina’s grip tightens around the doorknob, her tone downright cold as she says -

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I know how it sounds -”

“No, I don’t really think you know how it _sounds_ . Because I hardly think that my own sister would be insane enough to hire a _prostitute_ to show up at my doorstep,” Regina spits out. “Now tell me again. Who the hell are you?”

If Regina isn’t already past the pretense of playing house, she might take some enjoyment in the angry crease folding over the woman’s face. But alas, she’s had enough crazy for one day. Particularly attractive blonde ones with the gall to proposition her in her own home.

“I’m not a prostitute,” Emma grits out slowly. “My services are completely platonic. Maybe if you’d let me explain-”

“Get out.”

Emma’s lips part in surprise. “What?”

“Get out of my house. Now. Before I call the police.”

“I’m not even _in_ your house. Look, Regina -”

“It’s Ms. Mills to you,” Regina says tersely before letting the door slam shut. It echoes into the foyer with a satisfying thud. That is until Emma’s voice echoes through the doorway.

“You know your door’s all lopsided, right?"

The door is indeed lopsided.

Regina glares at it for a moment longer as the question is followed by silence, then some mumbling about crazy soccer moms before a card is slipped through the crack underneath the door.

Once she’s gone, Regina picks the card up from the floor with narrowed eyes.

_Caught in a Muddle? Then Come and Cuddle!_

_Emma Swan_

_Professional Cuddler_

She’s going to kill her sister.

* * *

 “I’m going to kill you.”

If there’s one thing Regina’s learned in her time getting to know her long lost British half-sister, it’s that threats to bodily harm hardly ever do any good. That, and the flair for dramatics more than likely came from their mother’s side.

There’s a soccer tournament today, and as a result a much larger audience to witness the day she would finally wring her hands around Zelena’s neck. Maybe there are benefits to sharing a womb afterall.

“Well hello to you too, sunshine dearest,” Zelena says in response.

Regina silently takes a seat and casts her gaze across the field. Henry’s coach moved him up to forward for the occasion, whatever that means. But if it makes him happy, then Regina would much rather enjoy watching her son play than suffer through another aneurysm arguing with her sister.

“I take it your night didn’t go well?”

“Well you would know, wouldn’t you? If you had answered any of the eleven phone calls I made last night,” Regina snaps.

“ _Eleven_?” Zelena gasps in mock surprise. “My. I stopped counting after I muted you on the third.”

“I left you nine voicemails. Nine. What the hell were you even _thinking_?” Regina hisses, conscious of the crowd surrounding the rest of the bleachers. “I mean, honestly. Bringing a prostitute to my home?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A _prostitute,_ Zelena!”

There’s a sudden hush and Regina’s all too aware of the glares fixed in her direction. She draws in a sharp breath and says in a softer grumble -

“You have ten seconds to explain or I’m taking back my Louis Vuittons.”

“Don’t speak of such rubbish.”

“Not rubbish, dear. Try me.”

Luckily the threat isn’t taken lightly. There’s hesitation in Zelena’s next few motions, followed by a sigh and a dramatic eyeroll.

“You can be so daft sometimes, Regina. No wonder I’m Mother’s favorite,” she says simply. “That woman wasn’t a prostitute.”

Regina’s jaw tightens. “Oh?”

“She’s a cuddle buddy, in every sense of the word. A masseuse. Whatever it is you Americans call it. They have those in New York now. It’s totally _in_ these days _._ If you refuse to find a man to warm your sheets - or a woman. I’ve seen your eyes linger, dear. You’re hardly subtle - then perhaps hiring someone to get that stick out of your arse will do.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“About as serious as that stick in your arse,” Zelena says, before thoughtfully adding, “And that dust in your knickers.”

“What on earth makes you think I would do something so…”

“Ordinary?”

“ _Pathetic_ ,” Regina retorts, earning herself a reproachful look.

“Yes. It is a bit pathetic, isn’t it?” Zelena wonders out loud. She lurches up from her seat before Regina can respond.

“You call that a pass?” Zelena shouts. “That’s my nephew you just pushed, you little shite! Yes, I’m talking to you. What the bloody hell are you even supposed to be - a cabbage patch doll?”

“ _Zelena_ ,” Regina hisses and drags her back onto the bleacher. Zelena huffs in response.

“Children these days. Little monsters, the lot of them,” she says with a theatrical sigh. “Shall we carry on, then? I think you should give this a chance. From the deepest, purest part of my soul, believe me when I say… you reek of bitterness and despair. Honestly, you’re practically a walking cactus, Regina. No one can go near you without ruining their manicure.”

“I’m sorry. Are you supposed to be making me feel better?”

“All I’m suggesting is you see what this… _Emma_ has to offer. She seemed _so_ upset to have the door slammed in her pretty blonde face. You do like blondes, don’t you? Goodness, Mother hates them. We should tell her.”

Regina allows herself to mull it over for a moment, settling on the word _pretty_. She doesn’t remember much aside from the atrocious leather jacket, or the bright green eyes. Or the silken blonde curls. Pleasant smile.

 _Pretty_ is pushing it.

“She called me a crazy soccer mom.”

“Really? I’d say you’re more salty than anything.”

“The point being,” Regina interjects. “What am I even saying? There is no point. It’s a terrible idea.”

“Probably. But who knows? This could just as easily turn into a cliché love story,” Zelena says airily. “Mother’s going to be so thrilled to learn you’ve turned into a lesbian.”

Regina simply gazes at her. “I abhor you.”

“Right back at you, sis.”

* * *

Regina looks up Snuggle Buddies that night. It’s a profession she’s never heard of before yesterday, and it makes her anxious to think there are people out there who willingly cuddle up to strangers. Clients are commonly male, she learns, more often than not over the age of fifty. And here she is, a thirty-four year old mother of one contemplating buying out a body for some platonic cuddling.

Regina circles the rim of her wine glass with a finger before chugging it.

“I’ve officially lost my mind.”

Somewhere in the deepest depths of her cold heart, however, there’s a niggling sense of guilt. For what, she isn’t sure. Maybe because a part of her knows Zelena is right. Being a walking cactus for the rest of her life isn’t going to get her anywhere. And thriving off the love and affection of her son can only do so much good before she becomes a lonely cat woman.

Regina hates cats.

The feeling doesn’t dissipate until she has her phone in her hand and a familiar voice echoing in her ear.

“Hello?”

“Miss Swan,” Regina says tersely. “You will come by my home Wednesday evening at seven. I’ll also have you know that I have the head Lieutenant of the NYPD on speed dial, so don’t even _think_ about trying anything.”

There’s a long stretch of silence before it’s broken with -

“Regina?” Emma asks cautiously. “Wait, this is my personal number. How did you even get -”

 _Beep_.

Regina hangs up before she can say something ridiculous like how she had performed her own background check on all personas of Emma Swan, which consisted of scrolling through Emma Swan’s Facebook for two hours straight (which she hasn't). Or how the only people she had on speed dial are her son, her sister, and the little old Asian lady from her dry cleaning.

Or how thirty minutes of her not-Facebook stalking was spent staring at one particular photo (which she doesn't have saved on her phone) that did things to Regina’s insides. Things she hasn't felt in well over a decade.

* * *

Saved Today 5:42 pm

* * *

Come Wednesday night, Regina has something akin to a bucket list written out to get over her nerves. It looks something like this -

  1. Get Henry through college
  2. Date someone who isn’t a buffoon
  3. Marry that person and hope they never turn into a buffoon
  4. Destroy meninism
  5. ~~Sleep with   Learn the meaning of physical intimacy~~
  6. Cuddle a stranger



It’s the best she can do on such short notice, because within minutes she’s shoving an overnight bag into Henry’s hands, complete with Zelena smirking in the background.

“Mom. Are you okay?” Henry says.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re wearing your nice dress. You don’t wear that unless you want to impress someone,” he explains. “Or string them to your headboard, like Aunt Zelena says.”

“ _Henry_!”

“ _Ohh_ , I did teach him well,” Zelena jeers. “Come, poppit! Time to go.”

Once she ushers them out, though not without Zelena sparing a glance at her outfit and mouthing _lesbihonest_ in all of her sing-song glory, Regina realizes that she is indeed wearing her nice dress. She can already hear the _pathetic_ being whispered into her ear, sounding suspiciously like her sister.

She’s heading upstairs to change when there’s a knock at the door, far too soon after they’ve left. Stalking back to the foyer, Regina swings the door open with an irritated - “I swear to every god imaginable, if you forgot Henry’s homework _again_ -”

The rest of it falls dead along with her dignity when she discovers it isn’t Zelena at the door.

“Miss Swan.”

“Uh… Hi,” Emma says. She gestures to the driveway in an awkward fashion. “Your sister… she’s a real piece of work, you know?”

“Indeed,” Regina sighs. “Please tell me she didn’t say anything to you.”

“Ok. She didn’t say anything to me,” Emma agrees. “Though I think she might’ve snapped a picture of me? Then she sort of cackled, shouted something along the lines of ‘enjoy your heart attack, Mother’.”

“She does that sometimes.”

“Oh.”

Another bout of awkward tension, and Emma’s gaze drifts from her face down to her body, lingering on a double take.

“Wow. So you look…”

“Pathetic?” Regina finishes flatly.

“I was going to say nice,” Emma says. “But not exactly the standard clothes with what I usually do.”

“Yes, well. I was going to change before you got here. Not that I even know what ‘standard’ attire usually entails.” Beckoning her inside, Regina is about to offer a drink when Emma interjects -

“Oh, you know. Most people do pajamas. The kind of stuff that doesn’t scream prostitution.”

It’s a jab - Regina knows it is, because the words aren’t meant to be taken kindly and she feels them sinking into her stomach like a brick. She hadn’t anticipated the night starting out like this. But here she is, standing in a revealing evening dress - with no shoes, so she feels even more exposed - and having her own words sprung back at her in retaliation.

“I’m… I apologize. I never should’ve assumed -” Regina begins.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not the first time,” Emma shrugs it off, but there’s still a twinge of resentment laced in her tone. “I’ll wait down here while you change, if you don’t mind.”

Regina doesn’t need to be asked twice.

* * *

She doesn’t put in nearly as much effort in her attire this time - some house pants and a casual blouse. She’s not quite comfortable enough to don a pair of pajamas for the occasion. But Regina is beginning to regret ever considering this in the first place, especially when it occurs to her that the block of cement in her stomach isn’t just shame for what happened earlier. It’s terror.

Thankfully it doesn’t last long. Because when she heads back downstairs, Emma is taking apart her doorway.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Regina asks in disbelief.

Emma stops in her tracks, but not before sending her a sheepish smile, giant door tilting heavily over her arms. “Fixing your door.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s lopsided?” Emma replies, and grunts with the effort of having to heave the door back into place. To be honest the sound makes Regina want to rip her panties off right then and there. “Care to help me out?”

Tearing her eyes away from the sight - because Emma had taken her jacket off, leaving her in only a tanktop and toned arms. And well, they’re nice arms. Very nice - Regina moves to keep the door leveled for both their sakes.

After some tinkering with the hinges and pulling a hammer out of nowhere, she gives Regina the okay to let go.

“Voila,” Emma says. The door swings shut, even and with less hassle than it did previously. Emma nods her head in approval.

“Do you normally go around fixing the doors of your clients?”

“Nope. But there’s a first time for everything,” Emma answers. “One of my foster fathers used to have me do all the chores around the house. Can’t say I didn’t learn a thing or two.”

“You were in the foster system?” Regina asks, surprise evident in her tone.

The next response is a shrug. It’s fairly obvious Emma doesn’t want to expand on the statement, which leaves Regina nervous and unsure how to proceed. She almost wants to apologize again. She almost wants to say ‘sorry for slamming the door in your face. I inherited the crazy from my mother. As you already saw, my sister did, too’ and make things less awkward so the words would actually spew from her mouth.

Words do spew out of her mouth, but they’re not the ones she’d planned to say.

“There’s a leak in our guest bathroom.”

Emma, who looks as though she was about to say something, closes her mouth in surprise.

“What?”

“The sink in the guest bathroom. There’s a leak,” Regina repeats. “Would you know how to fix it?”

“Would I know how to -” Emma shakes her head in confusion. “I’m not a plumber.”

“And I’m not a cuddler.”

“Not a cuddler,” Emma echoes. This time the confusion morphs to disbelief, followed by incredulous laughter. “Jesus. Then why _call_ me? I had to cancel on one of my clients just to adhere to your schedule, and now you’re telling me you had me come all the way down here to fix your _sink_?”

Regina inhales sharply. “That’s not what I -”

“Save it,” Emma interjects. “You know, I don’t know what it is about you rich people and thinking you can have whatever you want, but FYI. It doesn’t work on me, lady. Thanks for wasting my time. I’ll see my way out.”

It takes every shred of whatever is left of Regina’s dignity to follow through with her next words. Anything to stop this woman from leaving.

“Wait. Please don’t go.”

It works, if only briefly. And if begging makes Regina throw up in her mouth a little, she doesn’t acknowledge it. She’s just happy to see Emma pause at the doorway, back turned to her.

“This was all my sister’s idea,” Regina begins hesitantly. “I thought it was crazy at first, but… All I have is my son, and my job. I don’t have time to make friends or do anything remotely social. Ever since my last failed relationship, I don’t _do_ physical intimacy. When I called you here, I thought…”

Regina sighs in defeat. “Obviously I could just as easily hire a plumber. But I’m choosing you. You can break the sink for all I care. Your company is enough.”

Regina waits with bated breath until, slowly, Emma turns around. There’s something lighter about her eyes that makes Regina relax. Her expression is softer, if still a little tense around the edges.

“Normally I charge sixy an hour,” Emma says.

“I’ll pay you eighty.”

That catches Emma off guard. Regina tries not to feel smug and fails.

“You know, you don't drive much of a hard bargain. For a politician, I mean,” Emma says, gesturing to the string of certificates hanging on the wall. “Did you vote for Trump?”

Regina looks on in confusion. “God no. He’s despicable.”

“Right. Had to be sure,” Emma says, smiling suddenly. “So where’s that leaky bathroom?”

This time it’s Regina’s turn to be caught off guard as she motions to the guest bathroom in the hallway. As Emma brushes past her, Regina catches a whiff of the subtle scent of what smells like lilacs, and obviously her breath catches because Zelena might've had a point after all.

.

.

.

It goes like this.

She wonders if lesbians and cliché love stories can even coincide in real life. If they'd be as nauseating as any other cliché love story. Or if this cliché love story of her sudden, unrequited attraction for another woman would technically make her a flaming homosexual.

One thing is for certain, though.

Straight, that Regina is not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left kudos and reviews. They make me feel fluffy. Please never stop.
> 
> Also, there's some light Robin bashing in this chapter. So apologies in advance for any OQ shippers out there. It's all in good humor.

It also goes a bit like this.

The sink is never fixed. Probably because Emma was right and she isn't, in fact, a plumber. Which is okay, Regina thinks, when Emma had stayed behind for another hour to fix the back porch light and for a quick nightcap.

The conversation was both surprisingly pleasant and… informative.

“Isn’t it a bit dangerous? I mean, what you do. You’re bound to encounter some strange people,” Regina inquired over a glass of cider.

“We do background checks on all our clients,” Emma told her. “But oh yeah, it can get weird. I had this one guy who was in his sixties show up in a spandex suit one time. Super skin-tight. I could almost make out the wrinkles on his -”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.”

“- arm… pits?”

In the end Regina’s down a hundred and sixty dollars, and her level of self-respect has probably deflated to zero since the previous day. But for whatever reason she also feels accomplished, even as Zelena leers at her from her kitchen table the next morning.

“You look awfully chipper today,” Zelena notes, typing excessively into her phone. “Did you shag her?”

“No, I did not ‘shag’ her,” Regina grits out. She’s thankful that Henry is upstairs getting ready for school, and not witnessing this travesty.

“Not that it'd be any of your business anyway.”

“Oh, but according to Mother, it is,” Zelena says gleefully.

“What does Mother have to do with this?”

“She saw my photo on Snapchat.” And then she flaunts her phone so Regina can see, the snapchat of Emma gaping at the camera from her front porch, with a caption above it.

_Young Ellen enters sapphic territory._

“Sadly it wasn't enough to kill her,” the redhead adds.

“Mother has  _Snapchat_?” 

Zelena shoots her a distasteful look. “I swear you live in a cave sometimes.  _Of course_ she has Snapchat.   _Everyone_ has Snapchat.”

Of course.

When Henry comes down for breakfast, Regina hugs him long and hard. She needs to make sure there's nothing wrong with her ability to show physical affection for her son. Sometimes she has to remind herself that she isn't entirely broken. That she’s nothing like her mother.

His small ten-year old frame wiggles in her arms.

“Mom,” he gasps against her ribcage. “I can't breathe.”

After that, Regina spends the rest of the day thinking of the color yellow.

She's not stupid. She knows what it really means, considering the yellow is always attached to a face that looks strikingly like Emma Swan. What she doesn't know is what she’s going to do about it.

Infatuation is about as foreign to her as intimacy is. She had been seventeen when she fell in love for the first time, with the stable boy who her mother despised and had fired as soon as she found out, never to be seen again. It was an infatuation that lasted for all of two weeks.

Then there had been Robin, whom she’d been engaged to for all of six months before she realized he was far too simple for her tastes, much like a five-foot-nine tree. But unlike Robin, a five-foot-nine tree at least has some honor.

From then on, she placed all of her focus on Henry, and any potential romantic encounters were put on the back burner. At this rate if she had a dime for every successful orgasm she’s had in her lifetime, she’d have exactly one nickel.

So to say she’s taken aback by this sudden pull she has for a woman she hardly knows would be an understatement. She hadn’t asked Emma to stay so she could pursue anything remotely romantic. That’s obviously out of the question.

But companionship? The type of ludicracy that involves getting down with a total stranger (platonically)?

She’s already signed herself up for a one-way ticket straight to hell.

“Can you look any more uninterested in your job?” Marian comments, jolting Regina out of her reverie. “Keep it up and they’ll have an excuse to fire you while pretending it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re Latina.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Regina scoffs. “Have you  _seen_ the amount of white testosterone in this department? They’d write me down as ‘exotic.’ I’ll be fired for being a woman before anything else.”

Marian laughs. “Touché.”

She doesn’t leave though, prompting Regina to actually meet her concerned gaze from over her desk.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“I wasn’t aware we were at that stage of friendship where we discuss our feelings,” Regina deadpans.

“Oh, but you admit we’re friends.”

Regina smiles wryly. “Maybe. Most people don’t jump at the chance to be friends with someone who reeks of bitterness and despair.”

“Now I know something’s wrong.”

“That depends,” Regina says and stands from her seat. “I need you to do me a favor.”

That seems to surprise Marian. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I need you to hug me.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

Regina sucks her teeth in a scowl. “Hug me, damn it.”

Raising her palms in a yielding manner, Marian says, “Alright, alright. You just didn’t seem like the hugging type,” and cautiously pulls Regina in for a hug.

It’s awkward (as most hugs are) but that doesn’t stop Regina from wrapping her arms around the other woman’s waist in some sort of rigid semblance of a hug. It’s not terrible, per say. It does make Regina want to jab her own skin with a toothpick though.

“How long do these embraces usually last? Because this is getting uncomfortable.”

“About five seconds. Ten if you're feeling frisky,” Marian says as she pulls away. “How’s that? Better?”

“Not really.”

“It's not just me then, right? At least that wasn't as bad as hugging Leroy from Accounting. He grabbed my ass last time, said it’s because that’s as far as he could reach,” Marian supplies.

“Why the hell would you hug Leroy of all people?” Regina asks, shaking her head.

Marian shrugs. “They say dwarves are great huggers.”

Regina highly doubts that.

Just before she leaves for the day, she decides to give it a shot anyway. Tom from Parks and Recreation (or Sneezy, as everyone likes to call him) simply gives her a terrified look when she demands him to hug her before actually blowing a face full of mucus onto her nice blouse. To hit it off, she crosses paths with Leroy from Accounting, who makes it as far as touching her waist before she shoves him into a dirty mop bucket.

She’s in a piss-poor mood by the end of the day, to say the least. Not to mention she has to make a second trip to her dry cleaning to get the snot off her shirt.

She’s picking Henry up from soccer practice when she gets a text from none other than Emma.

And suddenly Regina’s day isn’t so bad anymore.

* * *

Emma comes back Saturday morning.

Unfortunately her arrival is within that time frame where Henry can’t decide whether he wants to tie his shoes and do something productive for the day, or flop down on the couch in his bathrobe and slippers for God knows how long. Meaning he’s still there to answer the door when Emma arrives.

Meaning he’s also there to ask inconvenient questions.

“Who are you?” Henry inquires at the door, not rudely exactly. But… definitely Regina-like.

“Hey, kid,” Emma says with a grin. “My name is Emma.”

“Are you the person my mom was trying to impress?”

“Henry,” Regina quickly intervenes.

“Aunt Zelena said you’d be all fur coat and no knickers,” Henry observes skeptically. “But you don’t seem so bad.”

“Thanks. I think,” Emma says. “You know, I don’t know much about British slang, but I get the feeling I just got hella burned.”

“You did.”

“Alright, dear, that’s enough,” Regina interrupts. She can already feel her cheeks burn from this entire exchange - god forbid she raise a son who doesn’t worship the very ground her sister walks on. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for the day?”

“But I don't have any plans,” Henry says.

“You do now. Go.”

He scampers away in his bathrobe and slippers, though not without a dramatic sigh. That leaves her alone with Emma, who looks for too amused by it all.

“Cute kid.”

“He spends more time with my sister than I care to admit,” Regina confesses. Her face is still flushed. It has nothing to do with the fact that Emma is wearing a beanie and it's really rather adorable. “Please, come in.”

Regina isn't overdressed this time. Or underdressed. Rather than donning the house pants and blouse that would've been suitable in the right situation, she’s in her daily attire - a navy blue zipper, sleeveless tank dress. This is only important because she swears Emma’s eyes linger on her way in. Specifically on her ass. But then again, Regina’s the one harboring an unsolicited (gay) crush.

“You’ll find all the tools you’ll need in the shed outside. Ro - my ex left most of his things behind when he moved out,” Regina explains, wringing her hands together. “I’m afraid I can’t think of anything else that needs to be worked on in the house, though.”

Emma simply shrugs. “That’s okay. I’m off the clock anyway.”

“You’re what?”

“I don’t work weekends,” Emma reveals.

Regina wrinkles her brow. “Then why are you here?”

“Well. You’re not nearly as prissy as I thought you were. Maybe I just enjoy your company,” Emma says with an impish grin.

Oh.

Is this flirting? Are they flirting?

Regina clears her throat. God her palms are sweaty. “Maybe you’re not the idiot I thought you were.”

Emma laughs. “Is this the part where we keep exchanging backhanded compliments?”

“You’re assuming I actually have any more compliments left to give, Miss Swan,” Regina teases.

She does, though. Plenty. Like how she could probably write a dozen shameless poems over how green Emma’s eyes are.

Yes, she’s going to be  _that_ person.

At that, Emma’s smile becomes softer, and she does this thing where she ducks her head in a timid way that leaves Regina a little breathless.

“You can call me Emma, you know.”

“Alright,” Regina agrees, and because she’s still a little breathless - “Em-ma.”

“Are you guys flirting?”

Regina startles at the sound of Henry’s voice. He’s standing at the end of the stairwell, dressed and sporting a bored but almost smug expression. She notices Emma out of the corner of her eye, who seems to be confused by Henry’s words. Like she doesn’t understand how they could  _possibly_ be flirting.

It disheartens Regina just a little.

“No, kid. That’s something Brits like to call having a good old chinwag,” Emma says, unsure. “I think.” And then to Regina - “I’m gonna go ahead and start pruning those trees, if that’s okay.”

“I -” Regina doesn’t have time to respond - Emma’s already out the back door. She sighs and turns a serious face to Henry.

His grin can’t possibly get any bigger. “I like her,” he says. “She’s better than Robin. He was a total wanker.”

_Oh, for the love of -_

“Why don’t you ever put in the same effort to learn  _Spanish_?”

“I do,” Henry says, unfazed. “Él era un pendejo.”

.

.

.

She doesn’t think it’d be good parenting to admit that she’s just a little satisfied.

But somewhere, somewhere far, far over the rainbow, Henry Sr. is probably beaming with pride at his grandson’s Spanish-speaking little potty mouth.

.

.

.

Thirty minutes later, she discovers Emma hadn’t been lying when she said she’s good with a chainsaw.

Regina only knows this because she’s making lemonade like a good hostess does, and had spent the majority of the time squeezing lemons and ogling the window as though she has any right to ogle Emma Swan with a chainsaw in the first place.

Her mother had come to pick Henry up twenty minutes ago. She regretted it as soon as she opened the door.

“Mother.”

“Regina.” Her mother nodded stiffly. “I see you’ve decided to keep your feminine features.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a lesbian now.”

“Mother…”

“Now before you go on lecturing me about your liberal nonsense, I don’t  _care_ that you’re a Gay. I’ve known since you were twelve,” she explained. “But for Heaven’s sake, Regina, a  _blonde_? This isn’t like that illegally blonde movie where they go to Harvard and become  _lawyers_.”

“Mother. We’re not talking about this. Your grandson is waiting. He likes parks. You can drop him back off at six.”

Now, as she’s squeezing another lemon - and hopefully she never has to use lemons as an analogy to describe her life from now on - she wonders if she will forever be doomed with a family that has no boundaries. A family she’d consider abnormal if it isn't actually batshit crazy.

Before she can begin to question even her son’s sanity, the back door swings open and Emma breezes back in. She’s covered in leaves.

“Oh hey, lemonade,” she says excitedly.

“I was going to bring some out while you finished up,” Regina tells her, passing over a glass. She tries not to stare too long at the way Emma’s white tank clings to her body. “Where did you learn to use a chainsaw?”

Emma hums behind her cup and says, “High school. I took a chainsaw to this guy’s motorcycle for cheating on his girlfriend, who was my friend at the time. His dad came out and showed me the proper way of using it.”

“ _No.”_

Emma lets out a snort. “Yeah. He was a real gentleman. Unlike his douchebag son.”

“That's the kind of person I don't want Henry to grow up to be,” Regina admits after a moment’s pause. “I made the mistake of trying to marry once. Social stigma led me to believe that I couldn't be a single mother. That every boy should have a father figure in his life.”

“You know that's not true. That’s like saying every woman needs a man by her side to help prop her up,” Emma says. “Total propaganda, too. It’s the kind of stuff you see in tv shows about fairytales nowadays.”

Regina wrinkles her brow. “Fairytales?”

“Never mind. It's a shit show anyway. I wouldn't recommend it,” Emma says, shaking her head. “So is Henry’s dad…”

“Henry’s adopted.”

Emma’s mouth falls open in a silent ‘oh’ as she asks in a soft voice, “He was a foster kid?”

“Up until he was three,” Regina responds in kind. “For the longest time I’d been so scared of raising children of my own, thinking I would never be able to forgive myself if I was anything like my mother. But then I saw Henry… and I worried a little less after that. Because he became my everything.”

There’s something odd about the way Emma is looking at her then. Like she’s trying to figure something out, but can't. It’s probably the gentlest anyone’s ever looked at her in a long time.

“Sounds to me like you're already a great mom, with or without someone there to help you,” Emma tells her, and Regina feels something warm flutter in her stomach.

“I should get going,” Emma says after a moment of silence. She leans over Regina to place the empty glass on the counter.

Regina feels the warmth in her stomach twist into something almost painful at the departing gesture. She doesn't want Emma to leave yet. Far from it actually. But her voice fails her and she’s left stumbling over her next words.

“I - maybe you should -”

Emma fixes her with a worried stare. “Regina? You okay?”

Emma’s hand finds Regina’s in the narrowing distance between them. It's a small, comforting gesture, something that could easily be taken for granted if the circumstances were different. But Regina notices it in the way she would notice an open wound, intense and all consuming, except the effect is the opposite. It creeps up her arm in a tingle and sparks the sort of awareness you get when you realize you've been deprived of physical affection for so long.

It leaves her utterly wanting.

“Regina?” Emma tries again, more panicked. So Regina does the only thing she can think of.

She steps up close into Emma’s space and hugs her.

It catches Emma off guard. Regina can tell by the way Emma’s breath stutters in her ear. She half expects this to be a terrible mistake, to feel the same uncomfortable prickling sensation when Marian had hugged her, or the suffocation she always harbored when her mother felt proud or affectionate enough to hold her.

But Emma quickly catches on, firm arms circling around Regina’s waist and holding her close.

And Regina - Regina holds her breath and waits, counts to three before -

_Oh dear god._ She realizes.

_I like hugging her._

The switch is automatic. Regina relaxes into the embrace, taking in the faint scent of lilacs and autumn leaves drifting in her head. It’s dizzying. She presses her nose into the space between Emma’s jaw line and ear, feels the way Emma’s body fits softly against her own. It makes her skin buzz with the sort of sensations she never knew existed.

It isn’t until Emma’s arms loosen around her that Regina gains some clarity to the situation, like the fact that she’s been nuzzling Emma’s neck (actually  _nuzzling_ ) as if she were a damn cat. The thought should disgust her.

But she knows damn well that it doesn’t, because all she wants is to do it again.

Emma lightly motions her back before Regina can stake her claim. Her skin is still buzzing.

Emma clears her throat. Her cheeks are slightly flushed as she says, “I don’t usually work weekends.” She glides over Regina’s impending retort - “But I can make an exception. Make this an off the clock thing. Just say the word.”

“And what word would that be?”

Emma appears to think on it very carefully. “Snuggle Muffin.”

“That would be two words,” Regina says, amused. “And over my dead body.”

“Oh, well that’s just too bad,” Emma shrugs and turns to leave. “I don’t do this kind of thing without the secret password.”

“Miss Swan.”

Emma pivots back on her heel, gazing at her expectantly. And Regina just knows she’s being played.

“Emma,” she stews slowly.

At Emma’s raised eyebrow, Regina grits her teeth and vows to wring her hands around that pretty blonde neck if it’s the last thing she does.

“Snuggle Muffin.”

.

.

If anyone had been listening in, they wouldn’t have been able to miss the unmistakeable snort of laughter that erupted soon thereafter.

Over Regina’s dead body, indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I'm not too fond of this chapter, but no amount of editing is going to fix that. Hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who's commented/left kudos <3 I'm a bit behind on replying atm

Picture this.

There's a grand manor located near the outskirts of New York City, fit for a successful Politician. The inhabitants include a little boy who secretly likes to pretend he’s a jedi (and sometimes he likes to sing to Lady Gaga, but he doesn't tell anyone that either), and his single mother. His single mother whose beauty (because let’s be honest, it isn’t her sparkling personality) can lure anyone into her four-hundred-dollar bedsheets with the snap of her manicured fingers.

Instead this poor single mother hasn’t had sex in almost two years, and has now relinquished the last ounce of her dignity for a woman with blonde hair and green eyes and _stupid_ , _ridiculous_ secret passwords.

This is already turning out to be the worst, cliché lesbian love story ever.

 _Ever_.

And so it begins like this.

Emma takes the guest bathroom to shower after grabbing a change of clothes from her car. But not before regarding Regina’s attire in consideration.

“Yeah. That needs to go.”

“Excuse me?”

But Emma has already shut the bathroom door, her voice muffled over the running shower - “Grab some comfy pajamas! Bonus points if they’re footies. Whatever floats your boat.”

Footy pajamas.

Regina rolls her eyes at the prospect. She tries not to imagine what it must look like to have Emma showering under her roof. The last thing she needs is to have an inappropriate image in her head and feel even more like a peeping Gay. So she rushes to her bedroom for a change of clothes.

Fifteen minutes and several silken pajama tops later, she finds Emma already settled on her bed. It’s both exhilarating and unnerving. Exhilarating because, well, she’s finally managed to lure someone into her four-hundred-dollar bedsheets. Unnerving because this _definitely_ isn’t how she imagined it happening.

If there’s ever a time to question her life choices, now would be it.

“I figured the room with the biggest bed would be yours,” Emma says, who is sitting cross legged at the end of the bed. She’s changed into sweatpants and a tank top.

“Is that what gave it away?”

“That, or maybe it’s the sign outside your door that says ‘the matriarch’ that clued me in.”

Regina can’t hide her smile. “Henry’s doing.”

Emma nods as though she expected as much, then readily meets her gaze. “You look nervous,” she remarks.

She is nervous.

But Regina only rolls her eyes and steps closer to the edge of the bed. “I’m weighing my options.”

“Well, we can do this the slow and awkward way in case you change your mind. Or we can do this the easy way.”

“What’s the easy way?”

Regina shouldn’t have asked.

It’s answered when Emma wraps her in a bear hold from the waist down and flips her onto the bed. Regina lets out an undignified squeal.

“ _Swan.”_

“See?” Emma says. “Easy.”

Just as Regina is about to snap out a retort, Emma swings an arm over Regina’s waist and tugs her close against her body. For a second, Regina is startled by the easy display of affection. She finds herself surrounded by the scent of Emma’s shampoo, the kind that Regina keeps in her guest bathroom, but it’s an appealing smell nonetheless. She can feel the swells of Emma’s breasts pressed against her back. A leg tucked between hers.

Emma buries her nose into the nape of Regina’s neck. That dizzying feeling is back, but it’s tamer. It’s more like a contented buzz that has Regina relaxing into the embrace more than she ever thought she’d allow herself to.

“This okay?” Emma mumbles into her skin.

“Your feet are cold.”

“Yeah. Hence why they’re between yours. I’m stealing your warmth.”

“Hm,” Regina hums agreeably.

“I also took a wild guess and figured you were more of a little spoon.”

Regina responds by shifting closer to Emma. Her backside nestles into the space between Emma’s legs, and she swears Emma’s breath hitches in her ear.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

And nothing else is said after that.

* * *

On Sunday, Regina takes a trip into the city with Henry. Unfortunately Zelena tags along as well, as she can’t go anywhere without her blasted sister these days. It certainly doesn’t help that Henry invites her along without Regina even knowing.

Zelena only had to take one look at her that morning and said -

“Now I _know_ you’ve shagged her.”

Regina doesn’t know what would make her assume something that preposterous. Maybe it’s the fact that Regina’s been in higher spirits since yesterday. Maybe it’s the bright glow she’s been wearing on her face since she woke up.

Or maybe it’s Henry’s traitorous mouth.

“The blonde lady came by again yesterday,” he tells Zelena.

“ _No,”_ Zelena gasps.

“Oh yeah. Mom was smitten.”

Regina wants to throttle them both.

Emma had only stayed for another hour after their… session. Twenty minutes into her departure, Regina’s phone buzzed with a text -

_I think I left my beanie behind. Guess I have to come by again next week and get it ;)_

Regina wasn’t sure what to do about that winky face. Or the message altogether, but most definitely the winky face. She doesn’t know much about emojis or modern text linguistics, but she does know a winky face either means flippancy, or in some cases - when someone wants to do dirty, dirty things.

She took it to the mean the former of the two connotations and replied back -

My God. She felt dirty just typing that.

But it didn’t seem out of place for Emma, as she had texted back with a standard reply that stirred up a conversation for the rest of the day. It’s not like it would lead to anything relevant, Regina thinks. Except possibly a good learning experience for when she writes a book on what not to do when you’re attracted to a straight woman.

They take the subway into Manhattan - “Why is it called a _subway_ ? Does it _look_ like they make sandwiches here? It’s called a bloody underground for fucks’ sake. And are the trains always this filthy? Gods, America is such a vile place,” Zelena sniffs in disdain. Regina doesn’t get the chance to admonish her foul mouth. They get off in time for a bookstore to catch Henry’s eye.

“Mom, let’s go in there!” he exclaims and makes a dash for it.

“ _Henry._ Crosswalk.”

“You know, most children these days like superheros and ninja turtles,” Zelena says nonchalantly. “But this one’s a book nerd.”

“He’s smart,” Regina defends.

“Just get him glasses, dear, and he’ll look like a mini Harry Potter. He won’t even have to read the books,” Zelena says and follows him inside.

Regina stays behind, mostly to shop through the books laid out on the stands outside, but also because it’s a beautiful day. She had been hoping to take Henry to the park considering her mother had kidnapped him yesterday for an Opera show instead. Between his love for books and her sister’s obsession with shopping, it doesn’t look like the park is happening any time soon.

Her phone buzzes. She smiles when she sees it’s Emma.

_I like your shoes._

Regina blinks and peeks down at her heeled boots - which probably aren’t suitable for a day at the park - and scans the area around her. Her phone buzzes again.

_Across the street._

It takes a second, but she spots Emma on the other side of the block, who waves at her as soon as Regina meets her gaze. Emma rushes over to cross the street, flipping off a honking car as she j-walks.

“Hey,” Emma says, panting, and grins at Regina. She’s in workout attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Regina tries to hide her own smile as she eyes the bead of sweat rolling down Emma’s collarbone before replying, “Big coincidence with a city as massive as New York.”

“Yeah. Weird, huh? Usually this sort of thing only happens in movies or fanfiction.”

At Regina’s confused look, Emma chuckles, suddenly bashful. It’s definitely not _cute_ or anything.

“Um, never mind. I promise I wasn’t stalking you. I live over on 42nd and 3rd. Had a late morning workout when I thought I saw Henry make a mad dash for it,” Emma explains.

“He gets a little excited over books,” Regina says. “He’s in there right now with Zelena.”

“Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt your family outing -”

“You didn’t,” Regina says quickly. _Too_ quickly. They stare at one another for a beat before Emma lets out a laugh.

“Alright. Good to know.”

It should feel weird. After all, it’s barely been twenty-four hours since Emma had flipped her onto her own bed and _cuddled_ her. A full-body, creeping-past-the-meaning-of-platonic snuggle. But it doesn’t feel strange at all. If anything, Regina just really wants to tug Emma close and -

There’s a sudden bang from inside the store. Regina is able to catch a glimpse of red hair through the window before it ducks behind a bookshelf. The door bursts open then and Henry comes parading out with handfuls of bags.

“Mom! Look, Aunt Zelena got me these Harry Potter glasses. She got you this, too!” he says excitedly and shoves a book into her hands. “Hi, Emma!”

“Hey, kid!”

Regina takes one look at the title and immediately wants to toss Zelena off a cliff.

_A Businesswoman’s Guide to Dating a Geek (Clumsy Lesbian Guidebooks, #7)_

She catches Emma’s eye, who observes the book and regards her with a small grin that says she’s trying really hard not to laugh.

It’s mortifying.

“Are you coming to the park with us, Emma?” Henry asks.

“Uh, you should ask your mom -”

But it's too late.

The door swings open again and Zelena sashays out with an ecstatic, “Oh, _wonderful_! Now it’s a full house. Come, poppit, blondie. We’re going to the park!”

And that’s how Regina accidentally gets roped into a platonic double date with her son, her sister, and Emma Swan.

* * *

A platonic double date turns into Henry marching by Emma’s side the entire way, asking a hundred and one different questions.

“So what do you do?”

“Well… I’m sort of a floater. Sometimes I’m a bail bondsperson.”

“What’s that?”

“I catch criminals.”

“Woah.”

“I’m also a professional cuddler.”

“That’s a _thing_?”

“Yup.”

“Woah.”

Zelena’s face never stops leering the entire way, either. Not specifically at Emma, because _that_ would present a problem. But… at Regina.

“Looks like you aren’t the only one who’s smitten,” Zelena says while signaling to the bubbly ball of excitement up ahead.

“I’m not smitten,” Regina grouches.

" _Please_. Just the other day I looked into a dictionary and saw your picture, right next to 'lovesick twat'."

"Have you ever even touched a dictionary? And for the last time, Emma's a friend. Nothing more."

“What was that?” Zelena says, cupping her ear. “I can’t hear you over all that bollocks coming out of your mouth.”

Regina bites her tongue, considering it’s that _bollocks_ in her mouth that is keeping her from blowing off on Zelena. She keeps her eyes trained ahead on Emma instead, who seems to be enjoying her time with Henry as well. And to find an attractive _anybody_ who genuinely likes to spend time with her son, it’s…

She stumbles over her heel, nearly falling flat on her face.

Behind her, Zelena chortles.

“Not smitten my arse.”

Eventually Emma and Henry fall back into step with them. But it’s within those thirty seconds of regrouping that Henry and Zelena disappear all of a sudden, leaving her alone with Emma. And it’s so terribly convenient, really.

Convenient in the way that screams _this is staged._

“The kid’s pretty great,” Emma says after a minute, shoving her hands into her pockets. “And his glasses. He looks like a mini Harry Potter. It’s cute.”

Regina’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. “Don’t tell him that. It’ll inflate his ego.”

“Already did,” Emma chuckles. “He said it’ll be a hit with all the girls in his class. And boys. Specifically one Nicholas Zimmer.”

Regina stops in her tracks. Did that mean…?

“You had no idea, did you?” Emma asks, coming to a halt beside her.

They’re by a bridge now. Sundays are always busy in Central Park, but it seems to be at its peak today. Regina moves aside to let an elderly couple through, gently tugging Emma along with her. They find a bench shaded beneath a tree.

“I didn’t,” Regina admits finally, forehead creased. “He doesn’t usually come to me about those kinds of things.”

“Maybe he’s scared of how you’d react?” Emma suggests.

“He shouldn’t be. I laid down all the rules as soon as he turned ten. No dating until he’s fifteen. Girl _or_ boy,” Regina sighs. “Now I’m going to have to give him the sex talk for both genders. As if one wasn’t hard enough.”

Regina doesn’t expect Emma to burst into laughter suddenly. “Sorry,” Emma says, not sounding very sorry at all. “Just… it’s always good to see parents support their kids no matter what they are. I never had that type of support in the foster system.”

Regina raises her eyebrows at that. This is her chance to ask without giving off the wrong impression. Or rather, the _right_ impression, but the whole point is to not clue Emma in on her little crush.

But before Regina can ask, Emma beats her to it.

“I get the feeling you understand more than most moms would,” Emma says, gesturing to the stupid book still in Regina’s hand.

That’s it. She’s going to burn it when she gets home.

She’s also going to toss Zelena off a fucking cliff.

“You caught me,” Regina says wryly.

“What’s there to catch? There’s nothing wrong with that. Women are hot,” Emma says in a way that suggests certainty, but nothing more.

Like does she find women hot in the _straight_ way?

Or the _gay_ way?

Does she find _Regina_ hot?

The questions blow through Regina’s mind like some twisted hurricane. It’s infuriating. Is this what it’s like to be a gay woman? Forever wondering whether another woman is even into women by flagging down clues?

“All I’m saying is… I think it’s pretty great of you,” Emma continues, interrupting Regina’s mental tirade. “You’re pretty great.”

The argument in her head doesn’t stop, but Regina does feel a little warm inside despite the cool weather. She’s also hyper aware of how close they are sitting on this bench. It brings back fresh memories of them huddled up in bed together. Now she just wants to reach over and touch Emma, feel Emma’s soft cheek against her palm. It shouldn’t be affecting Regina this way. It really shouldn’t.

“Thank you,” Regina says finally, to which Emma nods before peering up at the sky.

“Looks like it’s going to rain.”

That it does. Somehow it had gone from partly cloudy to thunderstorm in the making. Regina stands up and begins the long trek back to the subway, Emma following close behind.

“Henry?”

“Is with my sister. She knows to meet up at the entrance on Columbus Circle in case we get separated,” Regina replies.

“So you’re going this way?”

Regina stops briefly and throws Emma a perplexed look. “Where else would I be going?”

Emma simply grins. “Lucky for you, I used to be a bike messenger back in the day. Just follow me.”

So Regina reluctantly does, if only because she has to maintain some of her pride somehow and not admit that she had no idea where she was going. The offer comes as a relief as it begins to drizzle, and Emma quickly shrugs off her workout hoodie and passes it to Regina.

“Take it.”

Regina hesitates. “What about you?”

“My apartment’s just a block away. I’ll be fine.”

Regina shrugs and tugs the hoodie on, which looks ridiculous with her outfit, but she supposes beggars can’t be choosers. Especially as the skies open up and it begins to _pour_.

Regina shrieks and Emma grabs her hand with a laugh. “Come on!”

They make it to the subway in record time, racing down the stairs until they’re shielded from the rain. Emma’s hoodie is soaked, but at least the blouse Regina has on underneath it is passable.

“Well, that could’ve been worst,” Emma gasps, glancing at Regina.

It hits Regina like a pile of bricks.

Emma’s cheeks are flushed from the cold, her lips parted and red, about as red as an apple. Her shirt is drenched, clinging to her chest with the v of the collar slouched downwards from the weight of the water. Regina can see the peaks of Emma’s nipples protruding through the material. Can make out the surprising definition of her toned stomach. There’s a water droplet running down her neck that Regina wants to put her mouth on. She wants to lick every water droplet off of Emma’s body.

Every. Single. One.

“You okay?” Emma asks. “You don’t melt in the rain, do you? Otherwise we could’ve waited it out at a pizza joint or something.”

Regina nods her head silently. She still doesn’t speak as she moves to take the sweatshirt off.

“Keep it. I still need to pick up my beanie anyway,” Emma tells her, stopping her with a hand. Regina peers up.

Emma is close enough to kiss.

“Looks like it stopped raining for now,” Emma says, but her words fall on deaf ears. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Emma’s eyes are still on her, thoughtful, and she takes a step forward as though she’s contemplating hugging Regina. But then Emma gives her a friendly wave instead and disappears up the stairwell.

Regina takes a moment to breath.

“Damn it,” she whispers.

She can smell rainwater and Emma’s deodorant all over the sweatshirt she has on. She also feels more aroused than she has ever felt in a long, long time. It’s a powerful feeling. One Regina doesn’t think she should be having at all.

But alas, that’s how all stories usually go (with a revelation that alters the life of the protagonist).

This just so happens to be the story of how Regina Mills realizes she doesn’t just like Emma Swan. She like, _likes_ Emma Swan. She _wants_ Emma Swan. In ways that are definitely _not_ cuddle-buddy friendly.

And there’s absolutely nothing she can do about it. She has a sweatshirt and a lady erection to prove it.

.

.

.

And Regina?

Right here, right now, in the middle of a crowded subway in New York City on this cold, rainy day -

Regina is without a doubt smitten.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys. The overall chapter number had to go up. I had to split one of them as it was getting too long.
> 
> Thank you all again for your thoughts and praise. It makes me very happy to know you guys are enjoying this so far.

With this not-so-new realization of  _ feelings  _ comes a newer realization for Regina.

A realization that furthers the panic she already feels when Emma texts her Wednesday morning.

_ Hey, so should I bring the kid to you or…? _

Regina has no idea what the message even means. She had purposely avoided responding to Emma’s more recent messages in the hopes that she’d be able to get all of these stupid feelings under control. She’s scared that she’ll meet up with Emma again, and Emma will just  _ know _ , which is ridiculous. It’s not like anyone’s gaydar pings whenever Regina simply looks at Emma. Or she has a picture of a rainbow stapled to her forehead with the name  _ Emma  _ sprawled all over it. It’s not like Regina has  _ heart eyes _ whenever she even  _ thinks _ of Emma.

(She does)

The only real issue is what Regina is going to do from this point on, with their sessions and… their tentative friendship. The thought of never being able to cuddle with Emma again makes Regina want to put herself out of this misery. Let alone never  _ seeing  _ her again. 

But it would be for the best, wouldn’t it?

Regina has no idea. Although she’s fairly that sulking about it while fiddling with Emma’s sweatshirt isn’t helping. She legitimately has to stop herself from bringing the sleeve up to her nose and sniffing it.

Her phone buzzes again. This time there are several texts.

_ Sorry. Forgot to mention he’s here with me. _

_ As in my apartment. _

_ I might’ve accidentally kidnapped your son? _

.

.

Three seconds later, the school calls.

.

.

If anyone were to ask who the crazy woman shoving a lone pedestrian out of the way to get to the nearest taxi is, no one would really know or care. Because this is New York and pretty much everyone is an asshole.

This asshole of the day just happens to be Regina Mills.

.

.

Emma’s apartment building looks like something you’d find in an eighties film - surprisingly outdated for something that would still be standing in Manhattan. She hadn’t given Emma much time to explain over the phone when Regina managed to collect the address in their brief interaction. And she doesn’t give the apartment a second thought when the door swings open and Regina’s suddenly in Emma’s face, finger pointed at her chest.

“ _ You. _ ”

Emma quickly backs away. “Woah, okay. You’ve got crazy eyes.”

“What the  _ hell  _ are you doing with my son?”

“Look, no offense, Regina. But you look hella scary right now. Just let me explain -”

“Oh, you haven’t  _ seen  _ scary.”

“Mom?” Henry’s voice echoes between them. Both sets of eyes turn to look at him, one set much more crazed than the other.

“You do look hella scary, Mom,” Henry says.

Regina immediately deflates upon seeing him. The anger fades into something more manageable, before the reality of it all kicks in and she realizes she might be overreacting.

Emma takes advantage of the temporary silence to explain.

“Henry came to  _ me _ ,” she says. “It was kind of impressive actually. No one knows where I live.”

“You’re on the internet, Emma,” Henry pipes up.

“So?”

“ _ Everything’s  _ on the internet,” Henry says in a ‘duh’ voice. “I even found your Tinder.”

“What the heck do you know about Tinder, kid? You’re like, ten.”

“I know you put down that you’re twenty-five when you’re really twenty-eight. You  _ lied _ .”

“That’s enough,” Regina declares. She can already feel a headache approaching. She rubs the bridge of her nose while fixing Henry with a gentle gaze. “Henry. Why did you leave the school?”

Henry’s face falls at the question. His lips purse in what Regina would normally assume is an act of defiance, but she knows better at this point. None of this seems to be what she had in mind at all.

“You can tell her, kid,” Emma urges kindly. “She’ll understand.”

Henry hesitates, but then nods in acquiescence. “I wrote a poem for one of the boys in my class. Nick. He didn’t like it very much.”

“Oh, honey,” Regina breathes out. 

Suddenly it all makes sense. She’s striding over to him and encasing him in a hug, a strong one that could potentially crush his lungs. But Henry doesn’t seem to mind having his lungs crushed. Guiding him to the couch, she holds him close and says -

“That’s why you came to Emma. Because you were upset.”

Henry nods solemnly. “He pushed me over and called me a fag.”

“He  _ what _ ?”

Emma clears her throat, and Regina doesn’t have to see the pointed look being thrown her way to know she has on her crazy eyes again.

Taking a deep breath, Regina recomposes herself. “You know, my father once told me it takes strength to be gentle and kind.”

Henry sniffs. “Pretty sure that’s from a song by the Smiths, Mom.”

From the corner of her eye she can see Emma nodding her head in agreement. Regina resists the urge to roll her eyes. 

“Nonetheless, it doesn’t seem like there was anyone there to teach Nick how to be strong. What he said wasn’t nice. But that doesn’t matter,” she says and brushes his hair back tenderly. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

Henry glances up from beneath his lashes. His eyes are red-rimmed. “A pain in your butt?”

Regina laughs softly. “Sometimes,” she admits. “But no. I see someone who I am so,  _ so _ proud of. I see my son. And when you’re all grown up, whether it’s ten, thirty, fifty years down the line, you’ll still be the same honest and selfless and loving young man I know now. I’ll always be proud of you. Nothing any of the other kids say will ever matter.”

She notices Emma’s eyes on her, observing her silently. Silently but oddly. Regina can’t quite pinpoint what the look means.

Henry sniffs again, this time in a grin. “I know. I’m so over Nick anyway. He’s a prat.”

Emma laughs then and gives him two thumbs up. “That’s right. I’ve got your back, kid. I’ll even show you some of the pranks I used to play on all the bullies if you’re looking for payback.”

“Emma. Payback is my middle name.”

Regina doesn’t think her eyes can roll back any further to her skull. Yet somehow none of it bothers her.

Figuring now is as good a time as any, Regina scoops Henry up and kisses his hair, who’s now half curled up in her lap.

Emma stares for a second, biting her lip, and then proceeds to back away towards what appears to be the kitchen.

“I’ll just give you guys some time to relax.”

“You should stay, Emma,” Henry says and gestures to the couch. “Come sit with us.”

Emma falters, but then a pleased little smile forms on her lips when Regina nods her permission.

She goes to sit beside Henry, who is still half curled up against Regina, when he shakes his head.

“No. There’s no room here. Sit there.” And he points to the empty spot next to Regina.

Regina stiffens. Suddenly her skin is prickling with suspicion.

Oh no.

Emma looks a little bewildered by the command, but does so anyway. Her arm brushes against Regina’s.

“Closer,” Henry says.

This time Emma tosses Regina a look that clearly says ‘ _ what the fuck _ ,’ but doesn’t question the demand. She slides closer, as close as she can possibly get considering there’s hardly enough room between the arm of the couch and Regina. Now Emma is pressed up against Regina’s side, one hand settled gently over the small of her back, and Regina is dying.

Henry gets up and yawns then, big and wide and so, so fake. “I’m tired. I think I’m gonna go take a nap. Is that okay with you, Emma?”

“Uh, sure. There’s a spare bed in that room on the left. You know you can just head home -”

“Nope,” Henry says.

And then closes the door behind him.

Once upon a time, Regina believed her son was secretly the spawn of Satan. Now, at this very moment, she’s starting to believe again.

Emma shifts quietly by her side, but doesn’t move. Which is unfortunate because Emma’s hand is still sprawled lazily over Regina’s lower back and she’s warm and Regina thinks she might suffer from cardiac arrest.

“So… that was weird,” Emma says eventually, chuckling a little nervously. “Crazy day, huh?”

Regina is getting distracted by Emma’s eyelashes, which are dark against her cheeks from this angle. Regina wants to lean over and kiss them.

“Yes… I’m sorry. For my reaction earlier. I shouldn’t have overreacted like that,” Regina says.

“He’s your son. You had every right to freak,” Emma assures her. Her hot breath ghosts over Regina’s face. “If anything I should’ve been more specific with my texts.”

Finally she gets up. Regina feels the absence as prominently as the annoying ache between her legs.

“I’m gonna go make some coffee. Can I get you anything?” Emma offers.

It’s a simple question. Rationally, Regina knows she should respond with a cup of coffee as well. Black with a side of Tylenol. Lord knows she needs it right now. But there’s a more pronounced ache in her body that goes beyond mere arousal. It digs beneath her skin, spirals all the way up to her bone.

It makes her blood burn.

“Actually, Emma. There is something I need to ask you,” Regina says.

“Of course. Name it.”

“Would you -” and she pauses, because there’s something almost degrading about her request that makes her want to avoid phrasing it altogether.

“Snuggle Muffin,” Regina says instead. 

Something inside her shrivels in humiliation.

But Regina waits for her response with baited breath. Emma’s face creases in understanding at first, no sign of amusement anywhere, before smoothing over with a determined nod. She settles back into the seat beside Regina.

“Come here.”

And Regina does. She doesn’t crawl into Emma’s open arms - Regina doesn’t  _ crawl  _ \- but… slides over modestly. Emma’s gathering her up in her arms as if Regina’s a damn teddy bear, motioning for Regina to lay against her. So it comes down to this - their legs are tangled together, Regina’s head is nestled over Emma’s chest (she can feel Emma’s beating against her cheek) and she’s curled up over Emma’s body like she’s still a damn teddy bear.

But, Regina thinks, if she were to die today, at least she'd die a damn happy teddy bear.

“This good?” Emma asks, her voice unusually hoarse.

Regina hums in the affirmative. “You could move your knee so it's not jammed into my side.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“Your elbow as well.”

“Like this?”

Regina winces. “Knee, Emma.”

Emma snorts. “Alright, your Majesty.” And to Regina’s surprise, Emma takes Regina’s free hand in her own and fiddles with it. “Are you always this demanding?”

Regina’s smile turns coy. “Usually in bed.”

Emma doesn't say anything to that, though her chest does rumble in a silent snicker. But Regina is almost certain that beneath all the rumble, she feels Emma’s heart rate pick up against her cheek, quick and firm.

_ Ba bump babumpbabumpbabump _

.

.

.

Regina’s plan? The plan to avoid Emma altogether and sort out her stupid feelings? Yes, that plan. 

That plan went down the drain.

So far down the drain, there’s no way of ever recovering it. Even with a plumber.

.

.

.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, it becomes a routine.

Emma comes back that following Thursday, and then again on Saturday. Regina doesn’t even have to ask this time. It’s Emma who offers on both occasions, and being the lovesick twat that she is, Regina says yes.

Henry doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, it had taken some considerable bribing to convince him to stay over at a friend’s house for a sleepover. When that didn’t work - “Joshua’s in  _ Sweden _ , mom. That’s what cool parents do. They take their kids to Sweden,” Henry rolls his eyes - she simply tried kicking him out. 

“Emma’s coming over, isn’t she?” he’d ask.

“I can’t get you out of the house if I say yes, can I?” Regina sighs.

“Nope.”

In the end, Regina just gives up. She doesn’t bother stopping him when he sprints to the door one Tuesday afternoon. That’s what he does. He opens the door now.

“Emma!”

“There he is!” Emma exclaims from the doorway. She raises her hand for Henry to clap. “Up top!” His little hand reaches up to smack it. “Down below.”

_ Clap. _

“Who’s the shit?”

“I am,” Henry says proudly.

“And what do you do if you’re ever face-to-face with one mistakenly elected President of the United States, Donald J. Trump?”

“Yell Stranger Danger and kick him in the nuts.”

Emma ruffles his hair and beams. “I’ve taught you well, young Padawan.”

Regina palms her face in exasperation. Nothing says questionable parenting more than violence and politics.

“If you two are done behaving like children,” Regina says, throwing Emma a stern look, “Henry, can you go set the table, please?”

He scampers off while Regina motions for Emma’s jacket. Emma takes it off in an almost timid manner. It’s another thing Regina has noticed lately - the way Emma seems to be more careful with her reactions, pausing as though she’s considering what to say next. Not cautious, exactly. But… thoughtful. It drives Regina insane sometimes. Especially when she already has a hard time distinguishing the already blurred line between business and friendship.

Nevermind the fact that friends don’t carry along intense feelings of attraction for other friends. 

None that end well, anyway.

“I smell lasagna. Are you guys having lasagna?” Emma asks excitedly, handing over her jacket. Regina wants to kiss the eager smile off her face.

“ _ We  _ are having lasagna. You’re staying for dinner.”

“Wow. See, you’re not just bossy in bed after all.”

“Don’t tempt me, Miss Swan,” Regina teases as she’s hanging the jacket. “Or I might take that as a challenge.”

Emma falters at that, like she normally does nowadays. But beneath the small, measured smile Emma gives her, Emma seems happy to be here, despite the glazed look in her eye that Regina can’t quite define. Not that she puts much thought into it, because this?

This is called flirting.

“I have something for you,” Regina says quickly, blushing. There’s a special place in the world of lesbians and dating for women who flirt with straighter women. It’s called rejection.

“Here,” Regina says, and presents the pile of things she’d set aside earlier this week.

Emma stares at it. “What’s this?”

“Sweatshirt. Fully washed and dried,” Regina tells her. “And beanie. Which you’ve conveniently left behind three times thus far.”

“Not that. The envelope.”

“Oh.” Regina looks down. “Consider it debt paid.”

Emma’s forehead creases. “What debt?”

Regina regards her as if she’s an idiot. “The money I owe you for your services. You never gave me a chance to pay you.”

Regina spots the exact moment it dawns on her. Emma’s face morphs into something that looks like disbelief, followed by resignation.

“I’m not taking your money, Regina.”

Regina can’t help but feel a little insulted. “What’s wrong with my money?”

“Nothing’s wrong with your money,” Emma hurriedly explains. “It’s just… because.”

“Because?”

Emma nods carefully. “Because.”

“Because  _ what _ ?”

“This isn’t like my other sessions, alright?” Emma says, taking a step back when Regina tries to shove the pile into her hands.

“Oh?” Regina deadpans.

“I actually want to be here.”

“But I’m still one of your clients, am I not?” Regina insists.

Emma huffs. “Technically…”

“ _ Technically _ ?”

“It means I’m incognito, okay?” Emma relents. “Every client who sends in an application, everyone who sends in photos and requests, they all go into the system. We clock in, we clock out. It’s all tracked for our safety. But when Zelena sent in the application for you, that first time I came over was the last I ever had you punched in. You… they don’t even know I’m here. So yeah, technically you aren’t my client.”

Regina is dumbfounded, to put it lightly. She isn’t sure how to respond, not that she has the time to when a shout bellows from the kitchen -

“MOM! THE LASAGNA’S BURNING!”

.

.

As you probably recall, there are three things Regina has despised for as long as she can remember. One of which is currently burning in her kitchen.

“Fuck,” Regina murmurs, dumping the platter on the stove and cursing everything from existence. “Fuck fuck  _ fuck _ .  _ Hijo de puta mierda _ .”

Behind her, Emma and Henry stare on in bewilderment.

Emma leans over and whispers, “Does she always curse this much when she burns her food?”

“Only with lasagna.”

“In Spanish, too?”

“Also only with lasagna. And when she finally kicked Robin out. She was cursing in Spanish all night.”

“Huh,” Emma says, and continues to stare.

But that’s a story for another day.

.

.

This story entails burnt lasagna. Overall dinner is an awkward affair.

Regina stews in anger for most of it, scraping off the burnt pieces from her plate while Emma sends her worried glances. Luckily Henry doesn’t stop talking and fills in the silent gaps.

“Dinner’s good, mom,” Henry says with a mouthful of lasagna. “I don’t see why you have to be so grumpy about it.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Regina grumbles.

“Good. Because it’s good. Right, Emma?”

Emma immediately nods with her own mouthful of lasagna. “Yup. It’s great. Maybe a little crispy, but -”

The look Regina shoots her could make demons cry.

“ _ Kidding.  _ Just kidding.”

After dinner, Regina sends Henry off to bed. She’s tired and  _ perhaps _ a little grumpy, but it’s nothing compared to her earlier mood. Emma seems to sense this as well as she follows Regina upstairs for their usual nightcap - first her study to pour their drinks. Then, the bedroom.

“One sec, I’m gonna go change,” Emma says and hurries off into the bathroom.

At some point it stopped being strange, having Emma in her bedroom. It might be the same place where she’s had intensely graphic dreams with Emma taking her long and hard on this very bed, but in real life and real time, it’s becoming more like their safe haven. Regina doesn’t have to worry about using the downstairs sofa and someone accidentally catching them. However innocent this all is. It’s become one of few things in her life that actually feels… normal.

She sets her glass on the nightstand and sits, pinching the bridge of her nose. It’s at that moment that Emma reappears, donned in sweats and a t-shirt, and Regina once again wonders how something so simple can still look so attractive.

“You okay?” Emma asks, eyeing her over her glass of cider. “You look like you could use a massage.”

Regina smiles wryly. “Is that something you offer all your clients?”

“It can be,” Emma says, ignoring the light jab. “Anything from cuddles to friendly massages to a trip to the movies. You need a friend there to offer affection? You got it. Only thing forbidden is sex. For obvious reasons.”

Regina feels herself grow warm at the image that transpires. Emma gestures for her to roll over.

“Scooch.”

“What’re you doing?”

Emma rolls her eyes as if it’s obvious. “Giving you a massage. What’s it look like?”

Regina clicks her tongue, but does as she’s told. It doesn’t save her from the surprise of Emma suddenly mounting her lower back. Or the influx of dirty thoughts that resurface as soon as Emma’s hands are kneading her shoulders.

God rest her gay perverted soul.

“Is that a common issue?” Regina asks after a moment. “Do people tend to… proposition you?”

Regina’s eyes drift shut when knuckles begin to dig into her shoulder blades. She may be dying from sexual frustration, but this wouldn’t be the worst way to perish.

“Oh yeah,” Emma says. “You wouldn’t believe how many guys think it’s okay to ask. Or the amount of times I have to deal with unwanted hard-ons.”

Regina’s brow furrows in disgust. “That’s…”

“Too vulgar?”

“Revolting.”

She’s jealous. Regina hates to admit it, but the thought sends her spiraling into a pitiful hole of jealousy.

“Yeah,” Emma agrees. Her hands glide down Regina’s back. Regina’s not sure she can take much more of this. “That’s the thing about this line of work, though. People tend to get attached. It’s like… I might cuddle with you, but it doesn’t mean I want to, you know? It doesn’t make us friends. So I constantly have to set boundaries so they know this is just my job. A lot of the time they can’t tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not.”

The sound that comes out of the back of Regina’s throat gives Emma pause. “Are you okay? Should I go more gentle?”

“I think that’s enough for tonight.”

That prompts Emma to get up. And while there’s an annoying ache between Regina’s legs that never seems to go away, there’s an even more noticeable ache in her chest that falls into the category of painful.

“Is it something I said?” Emma asks, and she sounds so vulnerable. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, Emma,” Regina sighs. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”

She goes to check on Henry first, makes sure he’s asleep. Then she goes to the bathroom, brushes her teeth, stares into the mirror for a long time as her nightly existential crisis procedure, before finally changing into her pajamas. She slides into her usual silken button-up top. When she turns around, she finds Emma completely engrossed in a book.

The book is upside down.

“How much do you normally charge your clients to stay overnight?” Regina asks. 

Emma frowns and places the book back on her nightstand. “Um. Standard price is three fifty. Why?”

Regina grabs her checkbook from her purse and begins signing.

Emma stands up. “Regina…”

“I want you to stay the night, Emma,” Regina says and rips the check out, showcasing it in front of her. “For five hundred dollars.”

Emma’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. “I told you I’m not -”

“You don’t have to take it right now,” Regina interjects and places it on the nightstand on the opposite side. “Just know that it’s yours to do what you want with it. Obviously I’m not short on money. You can decide in the morning what’s real and what isn’t.”

Comprehension dawns on Emma’s features. Regina settles into the bed and waits, watching Emma’s face contort from concern to pensive to acceptance, all in the span of several seconds. 

Emma doesn’t bother requesting permission as she crawls over to the other side of the bed and sprawls herself over Regina’s body. Her head snuggles into Regina’s stomach. Emma wraps her arms around Regina’s waist, while Regina habitually curls a hand through her blonde hair. It feels soft between her fingers.

“People say I snore,” Emma mumbles against Regina’s stomach.

“I think I’ll live,” Regina says in amusement.

“And I hog the covers.”

“For your sake you better hope not.”

“You smell nice.”

Regina doesn’t have a response for that. She listens as Emma’s breaths even out eventually, filling the silence with quiet snores. It makes Regina’s chest ache again, but the good kind. The longing kind.

It’s the sort of ache you get from watching two people fall in love.

* * *

When Regina wakes up the next morning, she notices exactly four things. Five if you want to get technical. One is that Emma is nowhere to be found. It leaves a bitter disappointment in her that only intensifies when the smell of Emma’s shampoo overwhelms her senses. It hurts.  _ A lot. _

Two is the check she’d written out last night still sitting on her nightstand. Next to it is the envelope of cash Emma had refused to take. Three. And underneath it, folded neatly where it wasn’t before, is Emma’s sweatshirt.

Four.

She takes the sweatshirt and brings it up to her nose, wondering not for the first time whether this makes her more pathetic, or creepy, or just plain out stupid. But with the faint smell of Emma lingering beneath all the detergent, Regina figures she doesn’t care too much. At least it's real.

She falls back onto the bed with a stupid smile on her face.

That’s number five.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this chapter's more of a filler tbh. And total crack lmao. But who doesn't want to read about Thanksgiving with the Mills? 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who's reading and enjoying this so far.
> 
> Oh! And if you haven't seen the movie Zootopia yet, small spoilers ahead. Be forewarned.

Regina knows she is in for a dreadful day when her mother calls her one Friday afternoon. She can feel it prickling beneath her skin as soon as her mother opens her mouth -

“Regina,” she greets from the other line. Regina sighs inwardly. “I expect to see you and Henry at my house on Thanksgiving.”

“You literally stole the turkey from my freezer when I decided to host dinner at my house last year,” Regina tells her. “I hardly think it’s going to be a problem anymore if you’re willing to go through such extremes.”

“Extremes,” her mother scoffs. “Please. I gave it to a homeless man anyway. It’s good for charity.”

Regina grits her teeth. “Homeless people don’t have an oven to  _ cook  _ with, Mother.”

“I didn’t take time off my schedule so we can talk about the homeless. There’s a reason I’m calling.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to invite the blonde one.”

Regina heart freezes in her chest. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your… girlfriend.” She can practically  _ hear  _ the frown on her mother’s face.

“She’s not my -” Regina shakes her head. “Her name is Emma.”

“Whatever.”

“Is there a reason?” Regina asks, gripping the phone tightly in her hand. She’s almost sure her knuckles are turning white.

“Is it a crime to want to get to know the woman who’s turned my daughter into a lesbian?”

“I didn’t  _ turn  _ into a lesbian, Mother.”

“That’s what they all say, dear. Just make sure she knows that you will be the one bearing my grandchildren. They’ll look nothing like me if they turn out blonde. It’s unacceptable.”

Regina grits her teeth. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Do not bring cherry pie. I looked up recipes the other day and it doesn’t mean what I thought it meant.”

After the phone call, Regina is left brewing in both anger and panic - a combination that only seems so boil over when she receives a text from Emma not ten seconds later.

_ Can’t make it tonight, have a client. Raincheck? _

It’s another thing she can’t quite stand lately. Emma’s  _ clients _ .

It’s the third time she’s had to cancel on Regina in the past week alone, all for the same reason. It seems the closer it gets to the holidays, the lonelier people become. And they strive to fill that lonely hole in any way they can. Hence the sudden influx of business Emma has had to deal with.

Regina certainly doesn’t blame her. It’s her  _ job _ , after all. But with every raincheck she receives, and every client Regina knows about, the burning jealousy gets worst.

It’s maddening, the way she’s come to think of Emma as  _ her  _ Emma.

She responds back -  _ What’re your plans for Thanksgiving? _

The reply is surprisingly quick.

_ Probably working. You’d be surprised how many people have no one around that day. Y? _

Regina rolls her eyes. Here goes nothing.

_ My mother’s inviting you to have dinner with us _ .

It’s like clockwork. Four seconds later, her phone is ringing, with Emma’s face flashing in front of her via a selfie she’d randomly sent Regina one day.

Regina barely breathes into the phone before Emma exclaims -

“Your  _ mother _ ?”

“Yes. She specifically asked for you. And… maybe Henry and I wouldn’t mind seeing there as well,” Regina says. “So what do you say?”

“That depends. Is she crazy like your sister?”

“Yes,” Regina says automatically. “Possibly even crazier.”

Emma laughs. “Damn, that’s a feat. Dinner with the infamous Mills family? Count me in, then.”

“Really?”

Emma hums in approval. “How does your mom even know about me?”

“Snapchat.”

“Your mom has  _ Snapchat _ ?” Emma asks with a snort.

“Apparently everyone does,” Regina deadpans, and shifts the phone to her other ear when she breathes in, “There’s something else.”

Emma must be able to sense the nervousness in her voice, because she pauses and gently asks, “What’s up?”

“My mother thinks…” God, how is she ever going to live with herself after this? “Well, she’s under the impression that… we’re together.”

Another pause. Long enough that Regina thinks she might have to call for an ambulance soon in case her heart bursts right out of her ribcage.

“Together? As in…”

“Dating? Yes,” Regina mutters.

“Huh.”

Regina bites her lip. “I didn’t feel the need to correct her. Otherwise I would’ve had to explain the situation of how we met and - if that makes you uncomfortable, I can -”

“Regina, it’s okay. It’s not a big deal,” Emma snickers on the other line. “I mean, Thanksgiving with my friend and her crazy ass family, all the while pretending like we’re together? That’s like, the most cliché fanfiction trope come to life. It beats hanging out with strangers all day.”

Regina tries not to flinch away from the word  _ friend _ , and creases her brow. “Fanfiction?”

“It’s - never mind,” Emma says swiftly. “So what should I bring?”

After going over some of the details - “I can’t cook to save my life, but I can make a mean cherry pie,” Emma says excitedly. Regina doesn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise - she hangs up and palms her face in frustration.

She needs to start looking up recipes of her own. Because this?

This is a recipe for disaster.

* * *

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Henry comes home from school and enthusiastically tells her that his Home Ec teacher brought in empanadas today.

“Can we make some, too, Mom?” he asks, peering up at her with those large, doe-like eyes.

Regina is  _ not  _ going to be manipulated by her ten-year old son.

“For Thursday? Henry, I’m not some Master Chef. There’s no time to add another dish. This,” and she motions around the mess in her kitchen, where she’d been scrambling to gather ingredients since yesterday. “ _ This  _ is what I’m dealing with right now.”

“But -”

“No buts.”

“But mom,” Henry whines, and she should’ve stopped him right then as soon as his eyes turned mischievous. “Emma  _ loves  _ empanadas.”

That night, Regina looks up recipes for empanadas.

She has all of the key ingredients at least. But between finishing up the four dishes she’s already started and taking Henry to all of his appointments, she probably won’t have time to stop by the store tomorrow to pick up baking paper or the right size cookie cutters. She figures she can have those shipped overnight.

So Regina goes on Amazon.

It’s a strange thing, Amazon. Because, like Youtube, you go in with one specific goal in mind and wind up in the most bizarre places. Places you never imagined yourself stepping into.

In Regina’s case, it’s dildos.

Specifically strap-ons, as if that eases the absurdity of it all. Regina honestly has no idea how she ended up here at all. It’s not an idea she’s ever entertained before - the thought of sex toys always set her off, what with her two years of celibacy and six months spent engaged with the most boring sex imaginable. Even now, as she wonders what she would even  _ do  _ with a strap-on in the first place, she feels… dirty. Like she needs to take a trip to confession.

It’s liberating.

Her phone rings. She manages to catch a glimpse of Zelena’s name on the screen before answering -

“What the hell are you doing looking up bloody  _ dildos  _ on my Amazon account?” Zelena screeches.

Oh god.

_ Shit _ .

Regina hangs up before she can hear another word and quickly switches accounts. She should’ve known something was off when there were links to Red Valentino all over her recommendations. 

She places the order for the cookie cutters and paper, then places a special order for whatever toy had originally caught her interest. Maybe it’s about time she start looking for people to bed.

By Wednesday, she’s finalizing the preparations. Her package doesn’t come in until the next day, Thanksgiving morning, which works in her favor anyway as empanadas are traditionally fried and need to be eaten right afterward if you want to maintain the crispiness. She lets Henry do the taste-testing.

“Hm, so good, Mom. Emma’ll love these,” he says over a big swallow.

She certainly hopes so.

Regina just doesn’t expect Emma to already be there when they arrive. Though judging by the expression on her face, she’s happy to see  _ them _ .

“Are those  _ empanadas _ ?” Emma gasps from the doorway, the doorway to her  _ mother’s  _ home. 

“Yup!” Henry pipes up. “Mom made them just for you.”

Regina wants to smother him.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have. I haven’t had these since I was a kid,” Emma says joyfully, and sniffs the plate with a moan. It’s… distracting. “Wow, it smells amazing.”

“Wait till you try Grandma’s turkey,” Henry says and slips inside. 

Regina follows, eyeing the area warily. “How long have you been here?”

“About thirty minutes,” Emma replies, and helps remove Regina’s coat. “Not enough time to cause any destruction while you were out. But I think your mom’s warming up to me.”

“That’d be a miracle,” Regina mutters.

Everything seems to be relatively normal. The house is massive, just a bit larger than Regina’s own manor, but it smells warm and savory. Including Emma, who brushes past her to take the empanadas and other dishes over to the kitchen. It’s odd seeing her make herself so at home in a place that never felt like home to Regina.

She runs into Zelena on the way there.

“Don’t,” Regina says tersely, “You dare mention the other night.”

“Oh please. As if anyone wants to hear the sordid details of your perversions,” Zelena scoffs, but she's grinning. “Though honestly, sis, I didn't think you had it in you. Fucking her with a fake cock? Kinky. Or is it the other way around?”

Regina sighs. “Where's Mother?”

“Probably in the kitchen fretting over the fate of that bloody turkey.”

Regina goes to check. It shouldn't come as a surprise to her at this point to see Emma already in there, helping prepare last minute dishes and getting along with her mother of all people as if they’re friends. But… it does. Come as a surprise, that is.

She's dumbfounded.

“Emma, be a dear and mash these potatoes for me,” her mother says from the counter.

“Aye, aye Captain.”

Her mother catches her gaze, and she’s flicking off her mittens to send her a stern look.

“There you are. Why don't you make yourself useful like Emma here and take the ham out of the oven when it's ready? I'm going to go see my darling grandson,” her mother says and rushes past her.

Regina stops her and raises an eyebrow. “Emma? Not ‘the blonde’?”

“She's funny,” Cora sniffs. “Not very many people can appreciate my sense of humor.”

At that, she pins Regina with an accusing stare before stalking off.

Regina shakes her head in disbelief. She finds Emma still at the counter mashing potatoes, but she has her head turned to face her with a cheeky smile.

“See?” she says. “Told you she’s warming up to me.”

“Unbelievable,” Regina states, but she's smiling, too. “You've tamed the dragon.”

“Eh, she's not so bad. Definitely not as crazy as your sister.”

“Debatable,” Regina says. She tries not to stare too hard at Emma’s ass from this angle. But those jeans. “Do you need a hand?”

“I think I've got it,” Emma insists, wrinkling her nose. “Just sit back and relax. Have a nice glass of that cheap Moscato I brought. It might burn a hole through your liver.”

Regina leans against the opposite counter. “Nonsense. You're our guest.”

“Exactly. I need to earn my keep,” Emma points out. She washes her hands after having mashed the rest of the potatoes, then sneaks a hand into one of the platters. “ _ Really  _ doesn't help that you made empanadas.”

Regina slaps her hand away. “Those are for dinner.”

“Ouch,” Emma pouts, rubbing her hand. “Now that's just cruel.”

Regina desperately wants to suck that pout in between her teeth.

“Tough luck.”

“You know, you should probably be a little nicer to me,” Emma says and presses her back against the edge of the sink.

Regina stifles a smile. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” Emma nods and watches her carefully. “You're my girlfriend, remember?”

For a moment, Regina’s heart stops beating. “Oh?”

Emma’s still watching her carefully. “Yeah, it's weird. Even your sister thinks we’re dating.”

Regina chuckles nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yes, well. Don't let it get too in over your head. Most people would consider dating me a compliment.”

“Oh really?” 

“Yes. I've had men crawl on their knees just for the opportunity,” Regina states.

Emma bursts out laughing. “Now who’s way in way over their head?” she says, and observes her curiously. “What, no ladies getting on their knees?”

A chill spikes up Regina’s spine at the mental image, specifically of Emma getting on  _ her  _ knees. It's a visual much harder to ignore than it normally is.

“Not yet.”

“I'm sure it's only a matter of time,” Emma says with certainty, and Regina briefly wonders if that's supposed to  _ mean  _ something, or if Regina’s that desperate. “In the meantime…”

Regina is caught off guard when a layer of flour is flung at her face. A layer that feels more like a handful.

She gasps. “ _ Emma.” _

_ “Shit.  _ Sorry! That was way more than I thought it was,” Emma hastily apologizes and goes to grab a towel. “It was just supposed to be payback.” 

Regina wipes her face. “Payback?”

“For the empanada,” Emma says sheepishly, wetting the towel beneath the faucet.

She turns in time for Regina to dip her own hand into the bag of flour and chuck it into Emma’s face.

Emma blows out a puff of white powder. “Okay,” she says, opening her eyes. “I probably deserved that.”

Regina smiles wryly. “Probably.”

There’s flour all over Regina’s shirt. She accepts the towel from Emma’s hand and cleans her face off with it, then looks up at Emma’s face and snorts.

“You’ve got some…” Regina says and rubs at Emma’s cheek with a thumb. “There.”

Emma is watching her, an unreadable expression on her face that is hard to take seriously with flour all over it. But it still makes Regina want to do unspeakable things. She’s running out of reasons not to simply lean over the short distance between them and kiss Emma.

“How do I look?” Emma asks, cracking a small, goofy smile.

Regina swallows and peers down, taking that small step forward that has her holding her breath as she presses the towel to Emma’s face.

“You look good,” Regina answers softly.

Emma looks as though she’s debating something, letting her eyes flick from Regina’s to the towel on her cheek and then back to what looks like Regina’s lips - when there’s a loud shriek from the living room.

“That better not be burning ham I smell!” her mother screams.

Regina lets the towel drop with an angry ‘ _ damn it _ ’ and races to the oven.

The ham  _ is  _ burning, and it takes every ounce of Regina’s self-control not to burn the entire house with it.

“ _ Carajo _ ,” she hisses and dumps the pot onto the stove, letting loose another string of Spanish curses that would make even her father cringe.

“Hey, I’m gonna go check on the kid. You know, save him from your sister’s wicked clutches,” Emma says in a rush, her face looking flushed. “Mind finishing up the mashed potatoes for me?”

She’s gone before Regina can answer - left standing with a tray of burnt ham and utter confusion.

.

.

So here’s the thing.

Going as far back to when Regina was a child, Thanksgiving has always been a formal occasion. 

The turkey was always cooked using the same seasonings. The plates were always passed down the table with silent grace. Even back while Regina’s father was alive - before he died of a heart attack - her mother made it a point to keep it relatively tame and precise. 

Until today.

She doesn’t know whose idea it was to play football in her mother’s living room, or where the football even  _ came  _ from, but Regina imagines it’s only a matter of time before her mother loses it.

That time is right now.

“Go long, kid!”

“Over here, Emma!” Henry shouts, while Zelena looks on in boredom and plucks the football from Emma’s hand, gazing at it in distaste.

“Shall I?”

Emma hesitates. “Uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were -”

Now, two things happen that Regina is ultimately aware of. One obviously being her mother’s stern command from the other room -

“Everyone. Into the dining room. NOW.”

Second is Henry’s little frame body-slamming into Zelena.

This is soon followed by Zelena’s horrified shriek as they both collapse onto the coffee table behind them.

_ CRASH. _

The vase is the first to go. Then obviously the coffee table, because it’s no longer standing on four legs. It’s now standing on  _ two  _ legs.

More accurately, it looks more like a lopsided piece of wood with two bodies on it.

Regina’s hand barely leaves the wide open gape of her mouth before her mother walks in with a platter of turkey, takes one look at them - 

And then drops the giant platter of turkey.

“ _ That _ was  _ mahogany _ !” she screeches.

Needless to say, Thanksgiving is ruined.

.

.

They eat the burnt ham.

Strangely enough, it isn’t the worst dinner experience Regina’s ever had. Even when her mother fumbles with her sour mood to ask very  _ distressing _ questions.

“So, Emma,” her mother pauses to daintily wipe her mouth with a napkin, and Regina just knows that whatever’s about to come out of her mouth  _ shouldn’t  _ be coming out of her mother’s mouth. “How long have you been seeing my daughter?”

Regina freezes. Emma doesn’t even bat an eyelid.

But across the table, Zelena is guffawing like nothing else.

“About a month or so,” Emma answers.

“And what are your  _ intentions _ with my daughter?”

Zelena has her head tucked into an arm over the table now, her body shaking in silent, maniacal laughter. Regina darts her gaze between her mother and Emma, and wants to shrivel up and die.

“Oh, you know. The whole Uhaul experience,” Emma says with a shrug, undeterred. “Maybe foster some kids someday. Of course they’ll have to look like their grandma.”

Her mother sits back and observes her thoughtfully. Then she hums in satisfaction and pops a piece of ham into her mouth, officially ending the conversation.

Regina releases a breath she realizes she’s been holding.

Zelena had found the whole situation hysterical, which in turn led to Henry giggling the entire way through. And Emma is… happy.

She looks happy. And the empanadas might just be their saving grace.

Henry insists on watching Zootopia afterward. There’s no argument from the rest of the table - Emma’s the second one out of the room after Henry, her mother looks as though she’s ready to burst a vein, but remains silent, and Zelena is just overjoyed at the prospect of having done something to piss off their mother.

They pile into the living room, having moved aside the broken coffee table to make room. Henry and Zelena end up on the larger couch, while her mother begrudgingly takes the third seat. There might be space for her if Henry would just scootch a little, but he shakes his head at her and points to the loveseat next to them.

“Emma’s over there, mom.”

Zelena faintly snickers. She wants to shove both of them into another table.

“C’mon, there’s more than enough room,” Emma says, patting the seat next to her.

There’s hardly enough room, Regina thinks. But she sits and sends Emma a grateful look.

‘Thank you,’ Regina mouths.

She doesn’t have to explain for what. Emma grins and mouths back, ‘Anytime.’

Regina’s also more than content to sit through the whole movie with Emma’s body in close proximity. Although it seems Emma has a slightly different idea. 

Fifteen minutes into the movie, Emma starts to fidget. Regina is hyper aware of Emma sitting inches away, close enough to touch. Emma raises an arm and tucks her knees in, then taps Regina’s knee with her toe. She motions for Regina to do the same. 

It takes Regina a second to understand, but once she does, she’s sliding into Emma’s waiting arms. They circle around her waist and tuck her in close against Emma’s body. Emma releases an appreciative sigh then, before burying her nose into Regina’s neck. Regina shivers.

She doesn’t pay much attention to the movie after that.

It feels rather impractical. Unreal - that Regina’s sitting here surrounded by her family, with Emma’s arms wrapped around her in a way that is supposed to be entirely platonic, but certainly doesn’t feel like it. She wonders if it’s something she can take for granted, wonders if this will ever be enough. She can’t help it. The idea of having someone there to hold and comfort her, to invite over for family dinners, to make Henry laugh and make Regina  _ happy  _ \- it’s an idea she’s coming to yearn for more and more each day. And it seems to be right there, right at her fingertips, before Regina once again realizes that it can’t ever happen. 

Because the person she wants is Emma, her  _ friend _ . Her companion. A woman who befriends people for a living.

Emma Swan, the Professional Cuddler.

Regina begins to squirm and reluctantly frees herself from Emma’s hold. “I’m going to get a drink. Did you want anything?”

Emma blinks, her brows furrowed together as though she’s disappointed that Regina is getting up.

“Coffee sounds good right about now. Need a hand?”

Regina waves off the offer. “I think I can handle a cup of coffee. Certainly more than those three.” 

She points to the sofa - sure enough, Henry and Zelena are fast asleep, while her mother’s far too invested in the movie to pay any attention to them.

Emma lets out an amused chuckle. “Food coma.”

“Indeed. Extra creamer, no sugar, correct?”

Emma nods, surprised. Then her mother’s voice interjects.

“Shh,” she hushes them. “I can’t very well hear the bunny with you two yapping.” 

Regina rolls her eyes and wordlessly leaves for the kitchen. She starts up a fresh pot of coffee, then delves into her mother’s hidden stash in the pantry. There’s bound to be a bottle of vodka she can use to add a little spike to her own drink. Lord knows she needs it.

Regina’s in the middle of stacking the plates into the dishwasher when Emma comes in to check on her.

“The coffee’s still brewing,” Regina tells her. “I’ll have it out in just a minute.”

“No, I know,” Emma says, and scuffs her shoe a little tentatively. “Just checking to see if you wanted a hand.”

“You're our guest, Emma,” Regina points out, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet. “The only help you should be doing is sitting your butt down on that couch.”

Emma grins. “I would, but your mom is really into that movie. It's getting a little intense.”

Regina hands her her mug of coffee. “Most things she does are intense.”

“True,” Emma agrees, and hums happily into her mug. “Thanks for the invite, by the way. I had a good time.”

“Thank my mother,” Regina says. She pours a bit of vodka into her own coffee, handing it over to Emma when Regina sees her staring at the bottle longingly.

“Besides, I haven't seen Henry this excited for Thanksgiving in years. He loved having you over.”

Emma takes another sip from her mug, a thoughtful frown on her face.

“And you?” Emma asks finally.

Regina puts her mug down. “Me?”

“Did you like having me over?”

Regina wavers and thinks about her next response very carefully. She  _ could  _ be brutally honest and admit that liking Emma’s company today is a total understatement. She loved having Emma over. If it were up to her, she would have Emma come every day, in more ways than one.

“Of course,” Regina says casually. “I always enjoy having you over, Emma.”

Emma smiles, small but open, and it seems as though she's inwardly debating saying something else. 

“Regina, I -”

But then of course her mother interferes.

“It was that blasted lamb this entire time?” she squawks angrily from the other room.

Regina rubs the bridge of her nose in irritation while Emma lets out a halfhearted chuckle.

“Guess she got to the ending,” Emma says.

“Henry’s probably awake now,” Regina surmises, and watches Emma questionably. “What were you saying?”

“Nothing, it wasn't important,” Emma says hastily. “Think it's time for me to head out anyway. It's getting late.”

Regina blinks, perplexed. “Oh. Okay.”

The disappointment is sharp. But Regina puts on a strained smile and leads Emma back out to the living room. Henry comes stumbling off the couch, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Are we leaving?” he asks over a yawn.

“Soon, sweetheart. Come say goodbye to Emma,” Regina tells him.

Henry flicks his gaze between them - It doesn't take much of a wild guess to assume he thought they'd all be going home together.

“Seeya, Emma,” Henry says, his small arms wrapping around Emma’s waist. “So this is how liberty ends…”

“With thunderous applause,” Emma finishes and ruffles his hair. “Nice try. You can't out-quote me on Star Wars, kid. Just stay away from those first three movies. We don't talk about those.”

“Ugh, fine.”

The rest of the goodbyes are polite - aside from Zelena’s snarky Goldilocks remark. To this day Regina still doesn’t know if Zelena even knows Emma’s real name - and by the time Emma is standing at the door, Regina isn’t ready to let her go just yet.

“You’re welcome to come by my house after this,” Regina offers, albeit nervously. “I know it’s late, but…”

“I have a client tonight,” Emma admits.

“Ah.”

“... But I can come by after?” Emma says, hopeful. “It’ll be super late, though. I wouldn’t want to wake anyone up -”

“I’ll place a key under the mat,” Regina interjects, and watches as a pleased little smile - more genuine than anything she’s seen in the last few hours - curls on Emma’s mouth.

Regina doesn’t realize she’s staring until a flash nearly blinds her. She turns to find her mother holding up her phone.

Regina grimaces. “ _ Really?" _

“Well I need  _ something  _ to put up on the Snapchat,” her mother scoffs. “I haven’t seen you smile that idiotically in years.”

Emma bites her lip, presumably to hold back a laugh, and Regina ushers her out before she does something foolish. So when she receives a text not ten seconds later, she’s surprised to find it isn’t from Emma like her first thought was, but her mother.

Attached is the picture her mother had just taken. Regina has on the sappiest, idiotic, most lovesick smile on her face.

Underneath the attachment, it reads -

_ In case you needed proof. _

And it’s proof, alright. Proof that her mother is a terrible, terrible person. But Regina hits save anyway.

At least Emma’s smiling in it, too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Just a note, I'm currently working on the last chapter, so updates between now and then may take up to 3-4 days instead of 2. I want to make sure I'm mostly finished before posting the others.
> 
> My mom is also currently sick, so depending on how she's doing this next week and whether I have to take her to the hospital in between work shifts, it may take longer.
> 
> ALSO. I added Slow Burn into the tags. I didn't think I needed to since this story's only going to be 9 chapters, but some of you seem to be in pain. So I've dubbed it a slowburn now ^^' sorry.

The days go by quicker than Regina anticipates. Or wants them to.

With the holidays approaching and the end of the year closing in, there aren’t enough hours in a day to tackle the amount of work she’s putting in. Which is unfortunate. Mostly because it also means there aren’t enough hours in a day to spend time with Henry.

Which _also_ means not enough minutes in an hour to see Emma.

A week after Thanksgiving, Regina receives her package in the mail.

The notion of what’s in it is absolutely mortifying. The paranoia is what motivates her to check for any nosy neighbors outside her front doorway. Then she goes straight upstairs to her room, locking the door before she can even summon the courage to open said package.

It’s… long. Much longer than she thought the description had said. And bulky, too. Although she supposes this is a bit like shopping for lingerie online.

But with dildos.

She sets the purple-colored, phallus-looking thing aside and reaches for the harness that came with it. The straps are leathery and expensive - Regina made sure of it when she decided to buy something she would never use. It was out of her control at that point.

It’s the smooth texture of the harness that prompts her to try it on.

She feels a bit like a blushing schoolgirl, trying on her first bra. But instead of an innocent trainer’s bra, this is far less innocent. Far more scandalous.

Regina briefly wonders whether Emma has ever worn a strap-on before.

When her phone buzzes, she’s hips-deep into the harness already and having a hard time controlling her shame when she discovers it’s a text from Emma.

_So what’re u up to?_

_Imagining you in this strap-on_ , Regina thinks, chagrined, and tries to tug the straps off with a harsh jerk.

Nothing.

Regina tries again, but the straps are locked tightly into place. And with a dildo protruding from the center, it’s definitely not the most pleasant of situations to be in.

“What the hell…” Regina mutters, just as the door downstairs slams open and closed and Henry’s voice filters in through the walls -

“Mom!”

“Damn it,” Regina murmurs and yanks at the straps again. Why is this thing so _tight_?

“Mom!” Henry echoes again, closer now. “Mom, where are you? I’ve got a surprise!”

_So do I_.

“Just a minute, sweetheart!” Regina calls out. She wants to sink into a hole and die. She has no idea how she even got this thing on.

The doorknob rattles, and Regina thanks her lucky stars that she bothered to lock the door. When Henry’s muffled voice leaks through the doorway once more, Regina gives up on trying to loosen the harness and hastily wraps a towel around her torso.

She wrenches open the door, an angry retort on the tip of her tongue -

Only to come face-to-face with Emma Swan.

“ _Emma_.”

Regina gasps and nearly drops the towel, draws it closer to her waist instead. Probably not a good idea when it leaves a noticeable bulge between her hips.

“Hi,” Emma says sheepishly.

Henry is beaming at her from down below, his hands cradled around a furry little creature that looks like a ferret. An actual ferret.

“Henry,” Regina breathes, forgetting for a moment that Emma is standing there in front of her. “What is that?” Even though she knows exactly what it is.

It’s a ferret.

“This is our class pet, Randolph,” Henry says, and holds it up. “He’s a ferret.”

“I can see that. Why is he _here_?”

“Extra credit,” Henry shrugs. “One of the kids in our class is allergic, so I offered to take him with me until we find him a new home. I asked you this morning if it was okay.”

Regina doesn’t remember anything from this morning. Except that she had woken up in a sweat after some increasingly explicit dreams, starring a certain somebody. She had brushed past Henry in her haste to grab some spare sheets from the linen closet, and vaguely recalls hearing the word ‘parrot.’ She’d assumed he was talking about cereal. Fruit Droops or something of the sort.

It’s times like these that Regina hates the fact that _parrot_ has to rhyme with _ferret_.

“Henry, we can't have a ferret in our home. You don't even know how to take care of it.”

“ _Please,_ mom? I already said I would. And I have the food and instructions and everything,” Henry begs. She hopes there’s a cage involved in this scenario.

His gaze skips to the towel around her torso before he asks, “Why are you wearing a towel when you've got clothes on?”

“I was getting dressed,” Regina lies. And just to get rid of him - “Why don't you go downstairs and put… Randolph somewhere where he won’t destroy anything?”

That seems to do the trick. He scampers off with a wide grin, leaving Regina alone to deal with Emma next. In a towel and a strap-on tied to her hips. This day can’t possibly get any worst.

“I was in the neighborhood, so I figured I’d drop by and deliver your key. No furry surprises on my part,” Emma says jokingly. She seems flustered.

But not nearly as flustered as Regina. “Keep it.”

Emma looks at her uncertainly. “You sure?”

“Mhmm,” Regina practically squeaks.

Emma bites back a smile. “Okay.” And then her eyes are traveling from Regina’s face to the prominent tent beneath her towel, brows raised knowingly.

Regina shouldn’t have spoken so soon. This day _can_ possibly get worse.

“I’ll just let you, uh…” Emma stammers and flicks her eyes behind Regina. “Finish getting dressed?”

“Of course.”

“Right.”

“Could you make sure Henry doesn’t…” Regina trails off. She wants to die.

“Unleash the ferret? Got it,” Emma states awkwardly and takes a step back. “Do you uh… need help with anything else?” She’s blushing.

Heat singes Regina’s cheeks. “Like what?”

“ _Nothing_. Nothing. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Alright.”

“Okay.” Emma stands there for a second longer, appearing unsure, and then hurries off.

Regina slams the door before this gets any more embarrassing.

She’s wrenching the straps of the harness until they finally loosen after a minute or so, shoving it off her hips and back into the box it came in. It’s then that she notices the _other_ box sitting in plain sight from the door. Plastered in the middle is an image of, without a doubt, a giant dildo. It might explain Emma’s earlier reaction.

Regina doesn’t think she can ever look her in the eye again.

Once everything is securely packed and tucked away from prying eyes - she hides it in her underwear drawer, the last place Henry would ever look - Regina joins the other two downstairs.

Henry’s already gotten a head start at cleaning out the cage. He’s wiping down the bars with a cloth, while Emma is setting up what looks to be a playpen.

It gives Regina pause. The last time she had seen Emma was Thanksgiving night. She had hidden a copy of the key underneath the mat like she’d promised. It was closing in on midnight when Emma had let herself in and snuck into Regina’s bed without a word, curling up into Regina’s side. She left the following morning.

Regina hadn’t bothered asking for the key back. It was a spare she kept in a garden gnome in case Henry ever locked himself out. But following that morning, on a trip to Lowe’s to make _another_ copy, she realized it was better off in Emma’s hands anyway.

“Alright, that should be good,” Emma announces, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Unleash the weasel.”

“It’s a _ferret_ , Emma,” Henry says.

But he immediately crams himself into the playpen with a ferret that doesn’t seem to have any desire to be caged.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Regina says once Henry is distracted and she’s forced to _try_ and act normal around Emma. All she can think about are dildos.

Emma waves a hand in reassurance. “It’ll be fine. One of my foster brothers had a furrito once. They just need a lot of attention.”

“Furrito?” Regina wrinkles her nose.

“That’s what we used to call it. You might also want to make sure you have some mice on hand.”

“ _Mice?_ ”

Emma snickers. “They’re carnivores, Regina. Raw meat helps them live longer. But they can survive off just kibble, too,” she explains and shoves her hands into her jean pockets, her next statement sounding more like a question. “Anyway, since the key delivery was a failure, I guess I better run.”

“You’re leaving already?” Regina frowns.

She hadn’t realized how badly she missed Emma until now. Actually, she’s known exactly how badly she missed Emma. The absence is still weighing heavily on her chest.

“I’ve got three more clients after this,” Emma says with a shrug. “Fridays are usually booked.”

Regina swallows the resentment in her throat - she has no right to be jealous - and gives Emma a stiff nod.

“Very well. I’ll see you next week, then.”

Emma is staring at her, somewhat dejectedly. “Okay,” she says slowly. “I can… I can come by tomorrow? If you’re free, that is.”

Regina feels a smile tug at her lips. “Henry and I will be here.”

“Okay…” Emma squints at her in confusion.

“And you now have a key to my house,” Regina points out.

Regina sees the moment it registers. Emma’s face lights up and she’s pinning Regina with a happy grin. Regina’s stomach flutters traitorously.

“Alright. I’ll see you then,” Emma says merrily and then, to Henry, calls out, “See ya later, kid.”

“Bye, Emma!”

Once Emma leaves, Henry detaches his gaze from the ferret for the first time and glances at her.

“Your smile’s freaking me out, Mom.”

Regina doesn’t even care.

.

.

She receives another package in the mail later that day. Regina is still horrified by the earlier incident involving a similar package wrapped up in Amazon Prime tape, so when she sees Henry carrying it back inside, it’s horror turned to panic.

“Mom, look. It’s from Aunt Zelena,” Henry says, placing the package on the floor.

Regina’s gut twists. “Henry, don’t -”

But it’s too late. Henry’s excited ten-year old hands are already digging into the package with the experience of someone who opens too many birthday and Christmas gifts each year. He crinkles his nose.

And then holds up the most scandalous piece of lingerie Regina has ever seen.

“Ew,” Henry says, and drops it back into the box like it’s poison. It might as well be.

Regina stalks over and snatches the box before he can sneak another peak, though she’s fairly certain he’s scarred from that view alone.

“Do girls really wear that?” Henry asks. His face is contorted in disgust. And my god he’s still so innocent. “Why would Aunt Zelena send you that?”

“Because your Aunt Zelena is a wicked human being.”

“Are _you_ going to wear it?” Henry goes on. “What for? Is it for gross stuff? Aunt Zelena said you were born with the name Mother Theresa. But doesn’t that make you a nun? Wait, is that for _Em_ -”

The rest of his words trail off in an indiscernible mumble as Regina muffles his mouth with her hand.

.

.

.

Later, as she’s shoving countless pieces of lingerie into her drawer, Regina wonders how she’s managed to even get here. As both a lonely, sexually-deprived trainwreck with feelings for someone who’s painfully unattainable, the sad owner of a strap-on that will forever remain hidden beneath the depths of her panty drawer, and now the equally sad owner of a negligee that’s probably worth more than her sister’s boobjob.

Miserable and Alone. That’s what this would be called if her life were a Lifetime movie.

Starring Regina Mills and her woeful self-pity.

.

.

.

In case anyone ever wondered what a day that goes from bad, to worse, to outrageous is like, it starts out a bit like this.

Regina is woken up at the crack of dawn by Henry jumping on her bed and yelling, “MOM! WAKE UP! YOU GOTTA WAKE UP!” If that isn’t enough to wake her up, then it’s the elbow to her abdomen.

If _that_ isn’t enough to wake her up -

“MOM! RANDOLPH’S MISSING!”

Suddenly Regina is frantically awake.

They start with the kitchen, searching wildly through cabinets and behind appliances - Henry, still in his bathrobe, and Regina, who can’t even run a hand through her unruly hair without feeling like a lunatic.

“How on earth did you already manage to lose him?” Regina asks over the clatter of doors slamming shut. “I thought you locked the cage.”

“I did!” Henry defends, and then, more skeptical, “I mean, I thought I did…”

“Did you at least feed him?”

“ _Duh_.”

“ _Last night_?”

At that, Henry pauses. “Oh.”

Regina wants to smack his tiny behind straight into puberty.

They move on to the dining room, then the living room, with Henry taking the back way to search the garden. Regina takes off up the stairs to map out the second floor.

She checks the guest room, Henry’s room, and her study before stopping at her bedroom. Not because it’s next on the list, but because she’s moderately certain that strange noises shouldn’t be coming out of her closet.

“You’ve got to be -” Regina bites her tongue in frustration. “Henry! I think I found him!”

She doesn’t wait for his response. She’s tugging her closet door open, flicking the light on, and sucking in a startled breath at the sight in front of her.

Her closet is a _mess_.

Mess would be an understatement considering how tidy Regina typically keeps everything. But where there are normally rows of folded pants and shirts lined up on hangers, there are clothes strewn _everywhere,_ from the floor to the shelves. It’s as though a tornado hit and left behind a single living being in the form of a rabid ferret.

Said rabid ferret sneaks its head out from underneath a blouse, its beady eyes trained on her just as Henry scurries to her side.

“Did you find - oh,” Henry says. He stops wheezing. “Oh shit.”

Regina is too stunned to scold him. She’s thinking the exact same thing.

She dumps everything into a pile, from her outerwear to her sleepwear. Because Regina will be damned if she has to wear a single article of clothing covered in ferret fur.

Except, when she tries to start up the washer, the machine gives off a sputtering sound before fizzing out completely.

“Henry,” Regina says as patiently as she can muster. Henry pokes his head out from the entryway, looking suspiciously shamefaced. “Is there a reason why there are coins and... _glass_ inside the washer?”

“Um… I might’ve put my piggybank in there.”

“ _Why_?”

“I read somewhere that it brings good luck.”

So they go to Sears.

It's nine in the morning on a Saturday and Regina hasn't had her daily dose of coffee to prepare for this, not that there's enough coffee in the world to help her prepare for this. Somehow this isn't how she had envisioned her day going - chasing a ferret, breaking her washer, and now standing in the home appliances section while shopping for a _new_ washer with her son.

“What about that one?” Henry points out.

“That's the exact model we had. And you broke,” Regina sighs in exasperation. “Will you be shoving a piggy bank into that one as well?”

“No.”

“Good. Because you'll be putting your allowances in a sock from now on.”

They end up choosing a washer and dryer set. Regina figures she can donate the old dryer now that its counterpart is sufficiently destroyed. By a piggybank of all things.

They proceed to checkout, only to discover that the delivery can’t be made until Monday. The universe really does know how to put a damper on her mood.

“We could go to the laundromat,” Henry suggests.

“And spend the whole day there? I think not.”

Henry peers up at her solemnly. “Madame Woe’s Drying Cleaning?”

“Madame Woe’s Dry Cleaning,” Regina sighs in agreement.

* * *

They make it back home by noon. After having dropped off nearly every piece of article of clothing she owns for dry cleaning, Henry had insisted that they stop by a pet store.

“Randolph needs _mice,_ Mom,” he had told her, and Regina fought the shiver that came with it. “That’s why he destroyed your closet. Because he was protesting.”

“He wouldn’t very well be protesting if you had remembered to lock the cage, would he?” Regina snips back.

“That too.”

He scampers back into the house, box of mice on hand. Regina imagines she’d be dealing with more than just an empty closet if those are set loose at any point.

She also imagines she must be a sight for sore eyes as she enters the kitchen and finds Emma already there, sipping on a cup of what appears to be cocoa.

Instinctively, Regina touches her hair. God, she must look like a harpy.

“Heeey,” Emma greets from the table. “You weren’t answering your phone, so I let myself in. Hope that’s okay.” She points to the stove. “I made hot cocoa if you want some.”

Regina’s lip curls up despite everything. “Henry likes his with cinnamon.”

“Then today’s his lucky day. There’s enough of it in this to give any kid a shitload of cavities.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know once he’s done feeding the beast,” Regina says drolly, but she’s more relaxed now than she was several minutes ago. She’s starting to think it should be called the Emma Effect.

“The beast? You mean the poor ferret?” Emma laughs. “Oh no. Did it give you a hard time?”

“You have no idea,” Regina says dryly, washing her hands. She begins preparing sandwiches for lunch. “Turkey and Swiss on wheat?”

“Oh,” Emma says, surprised. “Um… yeah. Sounds good. Do you need any help?”

“Would I be properly feeding a ten-year old if I couldn’t handle a few sandwiches?” Regina reminds her.

Emma grins. “Good point.”

The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, with Emma sipping her cocoa and Regina setting out plates for three. Henry comes in with an enthusiastic ‘Emma!’ and drags her off to the backyard, presumably for a game of soccer. But Regina doesn’t mind.

It feels right. It’s… nice.

_Too_ nice, Regina thinks, wondering when Emma’s presence started to feel like an addition to the family. She’s never seen Henry so in tune with someone who isn’t herself or Zelena. And Regina… well, Regina just _yearns_ . She wants. And it’s a dangerous thing, wanting something you can’t have, but Regina thinks she can be okay with it as long as Emma stays in Henry’s life in the long run. Stays in _her_ life.

Even if it might not be in the way Regina wants.

* * *

Pining aside, they spend the rest of the day watching movies. More specifically an entire marathon of Star Wars.

Now, Regina has never seen a single minute of the franchise, despite Henry’s persistent urging over the years. And this might just be the laziest, most unproductive way of spending her weekend in a very, very long time.

It’s a whole hour of suffering and still not knowing how Luke Skywalker is anything but a whiny, insufferable twit, when Emma randomly draws her legs out halfway through the first movie and pulls Regina’s feet into her lap.

Regina regards her curiously, to which Emma just shrugs and says, “You look like if you could make the TV explode with your glare, you would. Foot massages help.”

Henry uses the occasion to add his own feet into the mix. He plops them right over Emma’s lap.

“Me too?”

Emma swats his feet away with a laugh. “Ew. No way, kid. Your feet stink.”

Henry pouts. “They do not!”

“Do too,” Emma insists, and emphasizes her point by tickling his feet. Henry giggles and reels them back in.

Emma’s hands return to Regina’s ankles, first the soles of her feet and then her toes. Regina immediately relaxes.

She doesn’t glare at the TV all throughout the afternoon.

But she does have to get up to make dinner. By six, Henry’s a bouncing ball of energy. It’s amazing how someone so small and frail-looking can move around _so much_. Regina almost pities Emma for having to control him as she gets the chicken and potatoes in the oven.

Almost.

As it is, Regina’s suffered through about seven years of it, and is about to suffer even more as she’s dishing out the third plate and Henry comes running in, Emma hot on his heels.

“Mmmm, so good,” Henry hums in delight, grabbing his own plate. “Thanks, Mom!”

“It smells awesome, Regina. Thanks,” Emma says before digging in, making a pleased sound of her own.

Regina can’t help but memorize it.

She doesn’t even take her first bite before words start spewing out of Henry’s mouth. Words she’s not sure she’s remotely comfortable acknowledging.

“So there’s this girl in my class named Jane,” Henry says, a calculating expression on his face that Regina does not trust. At all.

“Yeah?” Emma replies, clearly unsure where this is going. “Got a new crush?”

“Ugh, no. I’m so over crushes. We just found out yesterday that she has two dads,” Henry informs them.

And Regina _really_ does not like where this is going.

“It wasn’t a problem, was it?” Emma asks, poking at her potatoes. “I mean, the other kids weren’t mean about it, were they?”

“No. Most of us thought it was pretty cool, you know? One kid even started crying because he only has one dad and he wanted two, too,” he proceeds, and takes a bite out of his chicken. “Makes me think how awesome it would be to have two moms.”

He’s staring directly at Regina as he says this. Regina, who freezes over with a mouthful of chicken.

Emma also glances at Regina, appearing distinctly uneasy.

“Yeah, it would be pretty awesome, wouldn’t it?” Emma agrees, albeit somberly. “I mean, can you imagine all the mom jokes? You’d be going back and forth in an endless loop of ‘go ask your mother’.”

“Right? But like, it took a long time for Jane’s dads to get together,” Henry surmises. “I get that it can be hard sometimes, especially when you already have a family. You gotta make sure that person’s right for you _and_ your family. Right, Mom?”

Regina opens her mouth to speak, but she’s having a hard time getting over the fact that her son is not-so-subtly trying to set her up.

Luckily Emma cuts in. “I think you’re right, Hen. I think if I was ever a mom, I’d want that person to be… the missing piece to the puzzle. For me and my family.”

“I think you’d make a great mom, Emma,” Henry says very seriously.

The smile Emma sends him is almost watery. “Thanks, kid.”

Regina doesn’t stop herself from staring at Emma, but Emma’s gazing down at the table, her brows knitted together in concentration. Regina has no idea what to make of it. But she does know that if she stays here any longer with this new tension in the air, she’s going to suffocate.

“Well, after the morning I’ve had, I think it’s time for a shower,” Regina announces, standing up. “Henry, you’re in charge of the dishes.”

“But mom…”

“It’s either that or you’re cleaning the gutter.”

Henry springs up so fast, Regina nearly gets whiplash from watching him pick up her plate and take it to the sink. She doesn’t spare Emma another glance.

Regina showers quickly, unable to take her time when her thoughts are in a jumble. The whole process is strategic enough that she manages to calm down and wash away the sweat of this morning’s events in one go.

By the time she dries up and reaches her closet, she forgets all about it.

Then she remembers why her closet is currently empty.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me,” Regina exclaims. Her dry cleaning won’t be ready until tomorrow.

She has not thought this through.

There are scraps of clothing in her drawers that she keeps for days when she’s cleaning, but Regina can’t bear the notion of wearing rags in front of Emma. Reluctantly, she scours through her panty drawer and fishes out the least revealing negligee from Zelena’s pile of _gifts._

It’s small and black and hardly covers her thighs, but it would have to do for now. At least her silken robe is still clean as she slips that on, tying up the front.

When she makes her way back downstairs, she can hear a faint voice from the living room.

“It is useless for me to describe to you how terrible Violet, Klaus, and even Sunny felt in the time that followed. If you have ever lost someone very important to you, then you already know how it feels, and if you haven't, you cannot possibly imagine it.”

She finds Emma sitting at the edge of the couch, Henry’s petite body draped against her side, fast asleep. She has a book in her lap while she reads through another passage, not that her intended audience is paying any attention.

“For the Baudelaire children, it was of course especially terrible because they had lost both their parents at the same time, and for several days they felt so miserable they could scarcely get out of bed.”

“A Series of Unfortunate Events?” Regina asks, causing Emma to peer up. “Interesting choice.”

“Henry’s idea,” Emma says. “It’s depressing as hell. Take it from an orphan. This is not something I’d wanna read as a kid.”

“He had me read through all thirteen books when he was younger,” Regina says, amused. “You got lucky.”

Emma glances down at Henry’s sleeping form. Her face softens a little.

“He’s lucky to have you,” Emma says and closes the book, gently lowering Henry down.

“Because he’s not one of those poor, unfortunate orphans in the book?”

“Because you’re a great mom. And you helped make him into a great kid,” Emma answers without pause.

It makes Regina blush, which she tries to hide by dipping her head and ignoring the compliment altogether.

“Earlier during dinner… I’m sorry if what he said was…” Regina trails off.

“Hard?” Emma finishes, supplying her with a small smile. “It’s alright. I never really thought about becoming a mom myself. Growing up without one, I never thought I’d have it in me, you know?”

“But you do,” Regina adds, and inwardly curses when Emma regards her with those big green eyes of hers.

“Not many people would willingly read him a book about miserable orphans during their free time,” she explains.

Emma laughs. “Maybe,” she says. “Sounds like he was trying to hook you up in the meantime. Does he usually do that?”

_Only with you_ , Regina thinks.

Emma is watching her in a peculiar manner, and Regina wants to say it. It’s right there, on the tip of her tongue. She could just get it over with and see what happens.

But the sight of Henry’s dormant body sprawled across the couch gives her pause. It’s like a bullet wound, the way the fear strikes her chest at the thought of Emma ever leaving. Of rejection.

“Sometimes,” Regina answers instead. “He sees what the other children at school have. So he thinks that’s what will make me happy.”

Regina slides her arms underneath Henry’s cold, unconscious form and scoops him up. He weighs about as much as a giant sixty pound cement block. It’s excruciating.

“I’ll go tuck him into bed,” Regina says. “Are you staying the night?”

Regina silently wills her to say yes.

“If that’s okay,” Emma falters, but brightens up at Regina’s answering smile. “Need help carrying this big, old walrus?”

Regina snorts. “I think I’ll manage.”

Especially since she doesn’t think her heart can handle watching Emma tuck her son in.

Regina makes it up the stairs in one piece. She’s practically leveraging Henry on one arm as she balances herself against his bedroom door, then slowly lowers him onto the bed. His mouth opens and closes in a light snore, before he tilts his head and continues sleeping. Regina runs a hand through his hair affectionately.

After getting him tucked in, she creeps back into her own room to find Emma already sprawled on the bed. Like it’s the most casual thing.

Regina likes it.

“Did you change the detergent for this thing?” Emma asks, sniffing the comforter. “It smells amazing.”

“That would be the smell of my natural aroma,” Regina jokes, slipping off her robe.

Emma sucks in a laugh. “Please. You smell good but not that -”

The rest of Emma’s words come to a halt when her gaze lands on Regina, drinking in the sight of the little negligee.

“Um,” is all Emma says.

Suddenly Regina feels self-conscious. It certainly can’t be _that_ inappropriate, can it?

“There was an incident this morning with the ferret and - this is all I have,” Regina admits hastily. “I can find something else to wear.”

“No. No, it’s fine. Just… surprised, is all,” Emma mutters and drops her head back onto the pillow, shielding her face with an arm. Regina thinks she hears Emma grumble something beneath her breath, but it’s hard to tell.

Wordlessly, she slips in beside Emma and turns off the light. That’s when Regina realizes the odd tension is back, because Emma is firmly locked in the same position on her side of the bed.

Regina rubs a hand down her face. “Emma.”

“Hm?”

Regina stays stock-still, staring stubbornly at the ceiling. “Don’t make me say it.”

There’s a long period of silence where Regina isn’t sure Emma’s heard her, but then -

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Regina gnaws her teeth together in frustration. At this rate, she’s going to be setting a new record for having literally no dignity whatsoever.

She huffs out a breath. “Snuggle Muffin.”

Regina feels the bed shake from silent laughter, but it does the trick.

Emma slides over the gap between them and envelopes Regina in her arms. One arm wraps around Regina’s stomach, just below her ribs, pulling her snugly against Emma’s body. A leg entwines between Regina’s knees.

“I’m here,” Emma sighs into Regina’s hair. “Don’t you worry your cuddly butt off. I’ve got you.”

Regina scoffs, even though it’s half hearted and Emma’s feet are still cold. Secretly she’s just pleased.

Settling into Emma’s hold, Regina cranes her neck a little so her cheek is at least resting over Emma’s head. She doesn’t realize she has a hand curled over Emma’s.

Not until Regina’s eyes fall shut in a relaxed slumber, anyway. And even then she doesn’t move it.

.

.

_Now._ If anyone has ever wondered what it’s like to wake up to an awkward situation, this is what it’s like.

Regina wakes up to the sight of her fancy negligee hiked up all the way to her stomach, revealing her equally fancy panties. Emma’s arm is slumped over her bare ribcage (uncomfortably close to her breasts, mind you. And by uncomfortable, this is just another word for _aching to be touched_ ), and there’s a knee propped up over her legs, right in between Regina’s thighs.

If that doesn’t paint an awkward enough picture, then it’s Emma’s face buried into her neck. Regina can feel every breath against her skin like matches, sizzling and hot.

Much like the space between her thighs at the moment.

_Oh no. Oh no ohno no no no._

She needs to get the hell out of bed before Emma wakes up.

Regina’s first attempt to slip out from underneath Emma’s grip is unsuccessful, because Emma actually snuggles _closer_ and mumbles incoherently against Regina’s neck.

Emma’s hand moves before Regina can think to wiggle her legs out first. It hikes up further underneath the negligee.

And all too soon there’s a palmful of _hand_ directly over Regina’s breast when she least expects it.

Regina gasps and squirms. But it does nothing but leave her hot and achy and _wanting._

It’s like a switch has been turned on. Regina has never felt arousal this powerful before. Honestly, she wants to grind herself against Emma’s knee like she’s some sort of filthy animal. She wants to feel some part of Emma’s skin against her. Inside her. Fast and hard and dirty -

She wants so badly for Emma to strip her down and _fuck her_.

The movement causes Emma to stir. Her eyelashes flicker open against Regina’s neck, pausing shortly as though to take in the scene, before Regina can cover herself -

And then Emma’s flying right off the bed.

“Shit! _Shit_ ,” Emma cries out from the floor, dragging herself back up with another string of profanities. “Holy shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to - _fuck_. I’m a fucking pervert. That’s what I am.”

Regina can’t speak. What the hell just happened?

“I - I have to go,” Emma says and runs a hand through her disheveled hair. “I’m sorry. God - _damn it_. Fuck. I just remembered I’ve got church.”

“You’re an Atheist,” Regina mutters.

But Emma doesn’t seem to hear. She’s gathering her things and sputtering out another apology.

“I’ll text you,” Emma tells her. She leaves.

Regina doesn’t stop her.

She lets her head fall back onto her pillow, where Emma’s scent is starting to fade. Her touch, though?

That still remains, seeping beneath Regina’s skin like a spark of electricity.

.

.

.

.

And Regina?

Poor Regina is turned on.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the first part of what was originally going to be a single chapter. It's more of a stepping stone for the next chapter.

With Sunday morning’s events that Regina likes to call The Incident, comes the all-around crippling disappointment.

Emma doesn’t text her for three days.

It’s a massive blow to Regina’s ego. But then again, she _had_ seen it coming.

It doesn’t stop the rejection from weighing heavily on her heart. It’s all-consuming. No matter how many times Regina had envisioned this all going wrong in her head, it hadn’t prepared her for the real deal.

Emma doesn’t want her. It’s clear now after seeing the panic on Emma’s face for herself, the sheer disgust. Regina had delusioned herself into believing that _maybe -_

That maybe Emma felt the same way.

But it’s a delusion now wasting away in the pitiful fields of her mind that she calls reality. It’s time to let go of this silly little crush.

Emma might not want her, but Regina will be _damned_ if she lets all her effort for a friendship go to waste.

By Wednesday morning, she has her phone out and Emma’s number dialed in faster than you can say this is hopeless.

Emma answers on the third ring. “Regina,” she says, a little breathlessly. Like she hadn’t _expected_ Regina to call her.

Regina finds that a bit insulting.

“Miss Swan,” Regina greets. She hesitates. This was a bad idea. “I expect you over for dinner this Friday. Henry is insisting we order pizza.”

There. Polite but challenging. Pretend as though nothing ever happened. Except Regina can’t quite get rid of the mental image of Emma’s hand on her breast.

There’s a short lapse on the other line. “Is that supposed to be an invitation?” Emma asks.

“More or less.”

“Because that has got to be the most courteous, yet passive aggressive invitation I’ve ever received. Aside from that first time you invited me over,” Emma points out, sounding amused.

“Well, it wasn’t a request,” Regina states, hiding her own smile.

“Really? Couldn’t tell. What makes you think I’m even free this Friday?” Emma plays along.

Regina picks imaginary lint off her shirt just to give her hands something to do as she nervously replies, “Henry would like it if you were here.”

Another pause, this one longer than the last. Regina switches over to her other ear as she waits in anticipation.

Emma’s voice sounds small. “And you?”

Regina swallows past the thickness in her throat.

“I’d like it if you were here, too.”

“Okay,” Emma says with deliberate slowness. But Regina can hear the relief in her voice. “I’ll be there.”

It’s the closest Regina has felt to a silver lining all week.

Come Thursday, Regina takes Henry Christmas tree shopping after school. She figures it’s the perfect time - not during the weekend when it gets too busy, and not too late in the month or right after Thanksgiving - what, with Christmas being just over two weeks away. She tells herself it has nothing to do with seeing Emma again the next day and having a tree the three of them can all decorate.

“Let’s get that one,” Henry says. They’re walking along the open field, hand-in-hand. He lets go to point at a tree about as tall as their house.

It’s _massive_.

“Henry, that thing won’t even fit through our door,” Regina says, aghast. Nonetheless her _car_.

Henry pouts. “Come on, Mom. Our trees are always so plain and boring every year.”

“What are you talking about? You always help me decorate them.”

“Because I knew you’d feel bad if I told you the truth,” Henry confesses, his red nose crinkling in the cold. “But come on. Angel ornaments? _Birds_? They’re not even Christmasy!”

Regina bristles. “They’re tradition.”

“They’re _boring_.”

Regina buys the massive tree if only to shut him up.

The hard part is getting it to their house. She signs it off for delivery in the end, which costs more than the tree itself. A pretty penny Regina’s willing to spend if it’ll get the tree off her hands. It also turns out she’s not done with Henry’s idea of a ‘fun’ Christmas when he drags her by the hand the next day to some random thrift shop in Queens and fills up their basket with the ugliest, tackiest ornaments Regina has ever had the misfortune to see.

She buys every single one of them.

Apparently that’s all it takes to get Henry excited for the holidays again. Not presents or eggnog or tree shopping, but ugly ornaments. If Regina had known that sooner, she would’ve gotten rid of the angels and birds a long time ago.

That’s how Emma eventually finds them, with Henry preening over a penguin ornament in a tacky sweater, and Regina struggling to get this mammoth tree to stand upright.

“Okay, not to state the obvious but… I’ll say it anyway. That tree is huge,” Emma says, unwrapping her scarf. “Like, _woah_.”

“Emma, _finally_. Now you can help us decorate,” Henry pipes up as he’s pulling her into a hug, which Emma happily returns.

Regina stops trying to balance the tree and stares for a second, because this is the first time she’s  seeing Emma since The Incident, and she just knows she’s going to have a hard time pretending things are back to normal.

Emma doesn’t seem to have that problem.

“You can’t tell me you don’t need a hand this time,” Emma tells her jokingly, her cheeks still pink from the cold. She takes the other side of the tree and props it into the stand. “At least let me feel useful for once.”

“If you insist.”

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but the tree is strapped into the stand sooner than Regina would’ve been able to do alone. She steps back and admires just how _big_ it is, before nodding at Emma appreciatively.

“Thank you,” Regina says.

Emma watches her for a moment, then raises her shoulder in a half-shrug. “Anytime.”

It’s not the conversation Regina wants them to be having. The smart thing to do would be to talk about what happened like two responsible adults, but Regina stopped being a responsible adult the moment she allowed herself to develop feelings. At this rate Regina is fine with the idea of casting the elephant from the room. Emma still seems to be happy in her house, to be around Henry and around Regina. That should be enough.

Then why the hell is she still _pining_?

“Here, Emma. You get to choose your own ornament first,” Henry offers her the large box of rusty decorations.

Emma puffs out a laugh. She picks up a zombie Santa, fastening Regina with a shrewd look. “Oh my god. Are these _yours_?”

Regina rolls her eyes. “Don’t look at me. Do I look like the type of person to collect tacky Christmas ornaments on a whim?”

“You look like the type of person who’d be hiding a secret fetish no one knows about. So yeah.”

“You did buy them, Mom,” Henry adds. And then to Emma, referring to the ornament in her hand, “Is that your final choice? No take-backs.”

“Zombie Santa it is,” Emma says in a serious tone.

“Mom?”

Regina sighs. “Just pick for me, Henry.”

“Okay,” Henry shrugs and turns around to hang a green ornament on the tree. “You can have the Grinch.”

The scandalized look on Regina’s face is enough to make Emma burst into laughter.

It’s a relatively relaxing affair after that. Henry does most of the decorating, mostly because Regina can’t stand to see the hideous ornaments that should never, _ever_ grace a tree. Emma helps with the areas that are too high for Henry to reach, even though the tree itself is far too tall for either of them. Regina has no idea how she’s going to get the star up there.

Emma leaves for several minutes, only to come back with three mugs of cocoa.

“Cocoa!” Henry exclaims in excitement and takes his mug. “Is there cinammon in this?”

Emma raises a palm to her chest, affronted. “Of course. For your teeth-rotting pleasure.”

“Whipped cream?”

“I’m not that good, kid. In the fridge.”

“Sweet,” Henry says, and scurries out to the kitchen, leaving Regina alone with Emma.

Regina accepts the offered mug with a strained smile.

“Oh, come on,” Emma urges lightly. “I promise it’s not that bad.”

Regina is doubtful, but takes a sip anyway. She hums with a sort of unexpected delight.

“See?” Emma declares, relentlessly smug. “Told you.”

“You’re just filled with surprises,” Regina says dryly. Though in reality, Emma’s cocoa is better than hers, not that she’d ever dare admit it and feed Emma’s ego even _more_.

Setting the mug aside, she hears Henry’s footsteps stampeding through the kitchen like a herd of rhinos and figures now is as a good a time as any to bring up the conversation Regina had been intending to touch on.

Emma beats her to it.

“Listen, Regina,” Emma sighs and Regina can already tell this is going to be brutal. “I wanted to apologize for what happened. That morning - when we - when I -”

Regina arches a brow. “Fondled me?”

Emma groans. “Well when you put it like _that_. I didn’t mean to molest you, ok? It was an accident. I try to be careful about that sort of thing, what, with the amount of people I’m with every week. I shouldn’t have run out like that, either. But I was terrified that you’d hate me -”

“ _That’s_ what this is about?” Regina interrupts, suddenly growing dizzy. “You thought you crossed a line -”

“I _did_ cross a line.”

Regina ignores her. “And you were scared that I’d come to resent you?”

Emma blinks at her owlishly. “Um… yes?”

“I don’t hate you.”

_Far from it_ , Regina thinks pitifully.

“Well I hope not. Otherwise we’d be drinking cocoa and putting up ugly ornaments in awkward silence,” Emma says with a small grin. And then, more tentatively, “So are we okay?”

Regina doesn’t understand how that’s even a question, but she nods.

“We’re okay.”

Regina sits back and lets all of it sink in. Emma _hadn’t_ technically rejected her. As far as Emma knows, it was simply an awkward situation that turned into a simple misunderstanding. Nothing more.

But it’s a problem that continues to fester inside Regina like the plague, the _not knowing_.

Emma loves Henry, that much Regina can see. Emma wouldn’t just turn her back on him because Regina grew too attached. Worst case scenario - Emma is politely distant for a while. No more cuddling. No more foot rubs or long conversations over hot cocoa.

It would _hurt_. But at least she would be the only thing on the line and Henry would be safe.

“What are your plans for Christmas?” Regina doesn’t know what she’s offering. Only that Henry’s happier when Emma’s here and -

That’s as far as Regina can go.

Emma practically inhales her cocoa before replying, “Normally I go over to my neighbor’s apartment and have dinner over there. Mulan makes the _best_ dumplings. But I might not be in town in time for Christmas this year. I got contracted to track down some sleazebag who embezzled his employer and skipped town before they could throw his ass in jail. It could be a long one.”

“Oh,” Regina says. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Emma would be out of town. “Where would you be going?”

“Arizona, to start off,” Emma replies, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. Regina wants to swat it away and maybe sink her teeth into that same spot. Then she curses herself because she _should not be having these thoughts_. “Maybe Nevada. Only the greatest morons hide out in Las Vegas.”

“You should come by then. When you get back,” Regina suggests, aiming for casual. But there’s nothing casual about this at all. “I know Henry’s excited to give you his gift.”

Emma’s face lights up. “Really? I mean, yeah. That sounds great. He’s going to freak when he sees what I got him.”

“As long as it’s not another tacky ornament,” Regina says wryly.

“I’ll save that for the souvenir buying when I’m in Vegas,” Emma quips. “How does a tacky shot glass sound?”

“Dreadful.”

“Good. Maybe if you’re a good grinch, I’ll send over a postcard, too,” Emma says, satisfied, and slurps the rest of her cocoa.

.

.

It’s 2:18 am on the tenth of December when Regina finally comes down to a decision. She feels strangely light, as though tiptoeing between the lines this whole time has done nothing but weigh her down with her own fears, and crossing that line is a bit like letting them go.

After Christmas, Regina decides.

She will tell Emma after Christmas.

.

.

 

During the first week of Emma being away, Regina wills herself not to feel the brunt of her absence in ways she shouldn’t be feeling. Anyone would think she’s moping.

But Regina does not _mope._

She doesn’t. It’s childish and pointless. Yet she finds herself going through old text messages and standing guard by her phone in the event that Emma has the free time to send her a new update.

It’s exhausting.

“Are you done sulking or are you going to stare at your phone the entire time I’m here?” Zelena says boredly. She had come over one Tuesday afternoon to help make dinner, but in reality she’s doing all the work.

While Regina stares dejectedly at her phone. Still not moping.

Zelena sighs and dries her hands in a towel. “My gods, you aren’t just smitten anymore. You’ve fallen arse over tit for this woman. I can smell your sentiment from a kilometre away. It’s disgusting.”

“As a _friend_ , I think it’s my job to make sure she’s okay,” Regina counters, her cheeks growing warm. Sentiment. Right.

“You’re still going on about this ‘friends’ thing? Is that what’s _in_ with lesbians these days? You snog one another and call it a day’s work?” Zelena sniggers, waving a knife. “Oh hunky-dory, what jolly good gal pals.”

“We don’t _snog_.”

“But you bloody well _want_ to, don’t you?”

Of course she bloody well wants to.

Just then, her phone buzzes with a new text from Emma. Regina bangs her funny bone into the table trying to reach for it.

“Ugh. It’s like I’m not even here,” Zelena mutters and goes back to cutting the onions. Regina ignores her.

_So guess where I am now?_

Regina immediately replies - **_Buried in a ditch somewhere?_ **

_Har Har._ This is followed by an image. Regina taps on it.

It’s a photo of a wide open canyon going on for what looks to be miles. The orange and yellow colors of the impending sunset cast rather riveting shadows over the valley. It’s a beautiful picture.

_Grand canyon!! Neat huh? :)_

**_It’s beautiful._ **

_yeah.. It’s surpsingly freezing out, not many people around. Don’t tell the kid tho or he’ll get jelly_

**_No promises. He’s been moping around since you’ve been gone._ **

_You dirty, traitorous liar_ , Regina thinks.

_Aww I miss him too, i’ll make it up to him. Maybe I’ll bring him here one day_

And then -

_I think you’d love it too._

Regina blinks. Before she can name what emotion swells inside her - she just knows it’s warm and makes her throat tight - Zelena drops the knife and releases an almost inhumane _caterwaul._

“What the cunt bugger is that bloody thing?” she screeches and hops onto the counter, pointing a shaky finger at the ferret that weaseled out of one of the cabinets and is currently dawdling on the floor.

“That would be a ferret,” Regina deadpans.

“Does it look like I bloody _care_ ? Just _get it out!_ ”

Regina quickly types out a text as Zelena continues to schriek.

**_My sister has made her acquaintance with Randolph the ferret._ **

_Pic?_

Regina snaps a shot and sends her a picture of Zelena curled up on the counter. Still screeching.

The response is instantaneous - _LMFAO XD_

Regina has no idea what that means, but it makes her smile.

“Will you stop grinning at your phone like a damn twat and _help_?”

Regina sighs and puts her phone down. Eventually she does scoop up the ferret, which thankfully puts a stop to Zelena’s screams.

She sends Emma one more text as she’s locking Randolph back into his cage.

_Do you think Henry would want a dog?_

* * *

The package comes in four days before Christmas. It’s accompanied by a hideous post card with the words _Las Vegas_ on the front. Emma’s chaotic scrawl covers the back, but Regina manages to decipher the message enough to read -

_Told you I’d have souvenirs. Guess you were a good grinch Regina or I wouldn’t have paid a dollar for this thing. See you guys soon, miss you!_

_Emma_

Henry snags the postcard from her hand and goes to hang it on the fridge. He’s already been sulking with Emma gone for so long, especially now that he’s on break and has nothing to do _but_ sulk. It does make Regina feel better knowing she isn’t the only one affected by Emma’s absence.

But he had been in a particularly foul mood the last few days after she’d made him put the ferret up for adoption via fliers all over the neighborhood. Their neighbors next door were quick to take him off their hands. Now Regina seriously has to consider getting him a pet that doesn’t destroy closets or make Zelena scream her lungs out.

“Mom, look!” Henry snickers and holds up another ornament after having teared into the package. It’s a reindeer couple holding up a sign _Las Vegas_. “Isn’t it cute?”

Cute. Right.

“I’m gonna go hang it up. I think this one’s for you.” He shoves the box into her hands and scrambles off to hang the ornament.

She unwraps it slowly, not that there’s anything to salvage when the wrapping might as well be construction paper. She holds up not one, but _two_ shot glasses.

Regina snorts. The nerve of that woman.

One of them is a ghastly looking thing with bright colors and _Regina_ printed on it in big red letters. She’s genuinely shocked Emma had managed to find anything with her name on it at all.

The other is a clear glass, classy and practical. It also says _Bet on Love._

And frankly Regina wants to throw it at a wall because what the _hell_ is it supposed to mean?

She ends up placing both of them in her liquor cabinet, face forward so the words are in plain view. She decides not to dwell on what was probably a spur of the moment decision when Emma picked out the ugliest shot glass she could find, and then tried to balance it out with a nice one.

It means nothing. She’s reading too much into it. There aren’t any hidden messages to decipher or subtle nudges. Emma is just being _nice_.

That’s all.

Regina takes Henry out the next day once she gets tired of all his sulking. She decides neither one of them likes being stranded in the house any less than the other. There seems to be a common awareness between them.

It’s like this. Clearly neither of the Mills’ likes it when Emma goes off bounty hunting across the country.

And Regina’s a pitiful, moping fool.

Outside, the streets of New York City are filled with snow. Henry marches on like a true New Yorker, uncaring of the two feet of snow around him. Until they reach the five feet of snow and Regina has to tug him back every time he looks so much as tempted to bulldoze right through it. Then she would have a sulking, _drenched_ ten-year old on her hands.

“Did you get Emma a present yet?” he asks once they slip inside some department store or another. His cheeks are bright pink and he has this naughty look on his face that has Regina reeling in suspicion.

“Maybe,” she says skeptically.

“You should get her one of these,” Henry insists, and points to a spa assortment on a gift table. The sign above it says, _For That Special Her._ “She also likes lilies.”

“That’s… a little too intimate.”

“What about this?” He gestures to the jewelry counter.

“That’s an engagement ring, Henry.”

“Uh huh,” he says, nonplussed.

Regina just sighs.

She selects a picture frame in the end. It’s simple, nothing too suggestive that would indicate romantic sentiment. She even has the perfect picture in mind.

Henry shakes his little head at her. “That’s lame, Mom.”

Regina begs to differ. But she selects another frame just to spite him.

Luckily Christmas Eve is a relatively quiet day. Neither Zelena nor her mother are set to come over until tomorrow, so she spends the day baking cookies with Henry.

He had stopped believing in Santa Claus when he was seven, so none of these cookies are actually going to be staged in the living room, waiting for Santa to come and eat them (though back in the day, it was Regina who would sneak downstairs and toss them out). It presents a problem when Regina ends up making more cookies than she knows what to do with and Henry wants to eat _every single one_.

“Don’t. You’ll spoil your dinner,” she tells him sternly, as he sneaks his hand into the cookie pile and grabs another one.

“N’ I wnt,” he insists over a mouthful of crumbs.

An hour later he’s on the couch, hands clutching his belly and moaning about a stomach ache.

“I’m dying, Mom,” he groans. “If I don’t make it, tell Emma she can have my Darth Vader collection.”

Regina shakes her head and hands him a spoonful of Pepto Bismol. “You’re about as dramatic as your aunt.”

But she snaps a picture of him and sends it to Emma, with the text -

**_He ate too many cookies and wants you to have his darth vader collection if he doesn’t make it_ **

Regina doesn’t have to wait long for her reply.

_Can I have his princess leia poster too?_

**_Good luck prying that out of his comatose fingers._ **

_:D_

Regina’s mouth curls into a small smile.

**_He keeps complaining about not having you around to roleplay with him. Apparently I’m not good enough_ **

_Gotta get you to miss me somehow_

**_Well it’s working._ **

There’s a lag in the conversation after that. Regina bites her lip, wondering if she had gone too far.

**_How’s the hunt?_ **

_Finally caught his ass. Have to stay behind for some paperwork tho, plus the ride back_

_Won’t be back in time for Christmas :(_

The amount of sadness those words bring is unsettling.

Typing out a quick response, Regina sets out to make dinner. By six, Henry is back on his feet and shoving large amounts of pasta into his mouth. Regina would’ve found it strange if he hadn’t calmly set his fork down and looked her straight in the eye.

“Can I open my Christmas Eve present now?”

Normally Regina tends to hide his presents in a new spot every year, as every year he goes searching and eventually finds them before she can place them under the tree. This year she hid them in his closet instead.

Surprisingly it worked.

She gives him the present she had set aside in preparation - it’s thin and Henry tears right into it, probably thinking it’s a movie.

He holds up a book. “The Perks of Being a Wallflower,” he reads slowly.

It was Emma’s recommendation. Having seen the movie, Regina had worried the book would be far too mature for him.

But then Henry opens it up and begins reading. And Regina needs to remember to thank Emma at some point.

That’s how she finds him later. Sitting up in bed, nose deep in the book. Regina almost doesn’t have the heart to tell him to put it down.

“Five minutes, young man. Then it’s bed time,” she tells him. He simply grumbles back.

Ten minutes later, she flicks off the lights without warning, and his exasperated voice can be heard through the door as she closes it.

“ _Mom_ , come on! I need to get smart or I’ll be jobless and _die_!”

Regina clicks her tongue. Honestly.

Later, after wrapping up the rest of the gifts and making sure Henry’s asleep, she deposits them underneath the tree. Including Emma’s.

It had taken a lot of reconsideration. She had originally set aside one of her older sweatshirts as a ‘gift.’ It seemed fair at the time - Emma never took back her own sweatshirt, so why not give her one of Regina’s?

But now she has not one picture frame, but _two_ , with a photo delicately enframed in the center of each. One of Emma and Henry, beaming into the camera without a care in the world. And the other -

The other was going to be of Emma alone. But something inside Regina urged her to use a photo of her _and_ Regina instead.

So she sets both the sweatshirt and the frames inside a gift bag and carefully wraps it.

At midnight, Regina receives one last text from Emma.

_Merry Christmas!!_

Next to the words are various different types of emojis. Regina doesn’t even try to hold back her smile as she responds -

_Merry Christmas, Emma._

There isn’t much else Regina can say or do. She observes her handiwork one final time and knows this is it.

All she can do now is wait for Emma to come back home.

* * *

 

                                           

                                                   

 

                                                                    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Second image is not mine. If anyone knows who it was that manipped it, please let me know so I can give proper credit)


	8. Chapter 8

**6:22 am**

That’s more or less the time Henry is up, sticking to his standard early morning Christmas schedule when he leaps onto her bed, his knee jabbing Regina in the ribs.

“MOM! MOM! GET UP! IT’S CHRISTMAS! SANTA’S A FAKE AND YOU LIED TO ME FOR FOUR YEARS BUT THAT’S OKAY BECAUSE IT’S CHRISTMAS, MOM! _PRESENTS!_ ”

Regina groans and rolls her face into a pillow. She regrets the day he ever witnessed Santa pulling off his beard in a random strip mall all those years ago.

“Henry, you have two seconds to get off my ribs or there won’t be pancakes this morning.”

He bounces off of her and sprints off into the hallway, his feet stampeding down the steps as he shouts, “I’LL START THE COFFEE!”

Regina sighs. The day is already off to a marvelous start.

She manages not to fall back asleep. Once she’s downstairs, she finds Henry already in the kitchen, ‘making coffee.’ He has the burner off and the coffee mix directly inside the water before it can brew.

It’s a mess.

“I’ll make the coffee, Henry,” Regina tells him and dumps the coffee water in the sink. She ignores his offended squawk. “Why don’t you take out all the ingredients for pancakes?”

“But what about presents?”

“Rules haven’t changed. We have to wait for your Aunt Zelena and grandma to come,” she says sternly.

He moans some more. “But when will that be?”

“Whenever Zelena’s done wiping the sense of entitlement out of her ass,” Regina mutters, hands working through the coffeemaker.

“The what out of her what?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, and waves him out. “Pancakes. Go on.”

They make blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes since Henry can’t decide on which one he wants. He continues to sulk, of course, but at least he has something in his mouth that’ll stop him from complaining for a whole fifteen minutes. Even after, Regina can appreciate the silence before the real chaos begins.

She doesn’t have to wait too long. She’s showered and dressed and has Henry dressed up in his Christmas sweater (which he insists is itchy, but god forbid she let her mother see him without it) when the door slams open.

“Happy Christmas you glorious bastards!” Zelena yells at the top of her lungs.

She has her hands filled with gifts. Behind her, her mother irritably enters with a ‘Merry Christmas’ of her own. And by the doorway as Zelena follows, there’s -

There’s a dog.

A dog Regina has never seen in her life.

“Now where’s my favorite nephew? I’ve got a surprise for him,” Zelena says, and she’s dragging the dog along on the leash like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“He’s your only nephew,” Regina gripes.

“For now,” Zelena says and throws her a sly look. “ _Poppet!_ I’m here - Oh, Mother. Will you grab these bloody bags out of my hands already? I’m knackered.”

“You’ve hardly lifted a finger,” her mother tosses back, and then to Regina - “Regina, what on earth is this... _catastrophe_ of a tree? It looks like someone vomited all over it and flung it into a fire.”

“It is rather hideous,” Zelena agrees.

“Okay, stop. _Stop_.” Regina throws her hands up in exasperation, willing everyone to shut up. Once she has their attention, she points a finger at - Well. The elephant in the room, really.

“Will someone explain to me why there’s a _dog_ sitting in my living room, with a _bow on its head_?”

“ _Her_ name is Athena. And she’s an _English_ Cocker Spaniel,” Zelena says with pride.

“Of course you would get a British - Nevermind. Why is it _here_?”

“I’ve done what you asked me to,” Zelena defends, and stares at Regina like she’s stupid. “I got Henry a dog.”

“You _what_?”

Henry comes rushing into the room at that moment, his stomps coming to a halt when he takes in the scene before him.

“Is she for me?” he squeaks, and Regina can’t bring herself to rage over the situation when he sounds like _that_.

“Well she isn’t for this wazzock right here,” Zelena says and gestures to Regina. “Happy Christmas, Poppet!”

“Aunt Zelena!”

It’s frustrating, really, seeing her son so thrilled over Zelena’s gift when the idea was originally Regina’s. But also bittersweet. Now she knows there’s absolutely no way she can deny him this, even if this dog does turn out to be a savage little monster.

Henry’s all over the dog in an instant.

“She’s beautiful!”

“Yes, I had her primed up quite nicely if I do say so myself. You should have seen her back at the shelter. I nearly contracted a disease stepping foot in there. _Filthy_. Isn’t that right, my little goddess of war? Isn’t that right?” she coos at the dog fondly.

Regina stares on in horror.

“Now, here are all her belongings,” Zelena stands up nimbly and thrusts half her bags into Regina’s arms. “She needs to have her nails filed every ten days, and a haircut every two weeks. Otherwise she starts to shed and it’s a pain in the arse, really. She has this thing where she honks up after she eats and - well, it’s vile. Almost like a bloody hairball.”

Regina’s horror doesn’t dissipate in the slightest. “I said I wanted you to look up possible shelters. _On the internet_ . Not walk _into_ one and _adopt a dog_.”

Zelena scoffs and waves it off. “Semantics.”

Semantics.

“Dear, if I lay eyes on this tree for a moment longer, I’m going to vomit, myself. When is Emma coming over?” her mother asks from the kitchen.

“Don’t you know, Mum? She’s been out in the desert hunting bandits. Like those wild west films. Regina’s been brooding for _weeks_ ,” Zelena titters.

“ _Bandits_?”

And just like that, Regina knows this is going to be another _spectacular_ Christmas.

* * *

They open presents at ten, much to Henry’s dismay. But he seems thrilled to be spoiled rotten again like he is every year, surprisingly not by Regina. It’s Zelena who enjoys buying him literally everything you’d find in a strip mall - from legos to bedsheets to ridiculous looking polo shirts.

Regina doesn’t think he’ll even notice the new bathrobe and slipper set she got him over the massive piles of wrapping paper.

“Here you go, Mom,” Henry says and hands her a poorly wrapped gift about the size of a book. “That’s for you. Emma helped me write it.”

That spurs her curiosity, and she’s unwrapping it before she can think to say thank you.

It _is_ a book. An ameteur one with childish writing and drawings, but a book nonetheless.

“It’s a fairytale about a queen and a princess,” Henry adds at Regina’s befuddled expression. “Emma said there’s never been a lgbt fairytale before. So I wrote one. I took inspiration from the things around me.”

He nods in an impish manner and Regina figures that might be why the characters on the cover conveniently look like her and Emma.

Huh.

Regina smiles warmly at him and strokes his cheek. “Thank you, Henry. I can’t wait to read it.”

Henry beams.

Zelena uses that opportunity to plop a gift onto her lap. “Here you go, sis. Happy Christmas!” she says cheerfully. _Too_ cheerfully.

Regina should honestly know better at this point. But at least she has the sense to cautiously unwrap it before discovering -

It’s a dildo.

It’s another _fucking_ dildo.

“Zelena,” Regina gasps in horror. “Why the hell would you -”

“It vibrates,” Zelena says defensively. “And it’s got those little ridges at the end that does wonders. I thought you might like it.”

“What is it, Mom?” Henry asks.

But Regina is already rushing up the stairs, dumping the unopened package into her panty drawer along with the other one that is currently collecting dust.

This is officially the worst Christmas ever.

Luckily the rest of the morning goes by without any drawbacks. Regina sends Emma a message just to ensure that not _everyone_ in her life is insane - _You wouldn’t believe the mutiny I have on my hands_

There’s no response. Regina tries not to think too much of it.

They have lunch at noon, spending those few hours afterward lounging on the couch and watching _A Christmas Story_ . Henry insists on putting on _Home Alone 2_ in the spirit of already being a devious child himself, before leaving midway through the movie to play out in the fresh snow with his new _English_ Cocker Spaniel.

Her mother has had one too much eggnog. Regina finds she doesn’t really care that it’s all gone now, as long as her mother remains passed out on the couch. One less obstacle to work with.

And Zelena -

Zelena is hanging mistletoe in her kitchen.

“Do I even want to ask?” Regina drawls. She’s still very much furious with her for the dildo incident.

Zelena flashes her a grin. “ _Well_ , since you have no idea when your gal pal is coming back, I thought _why not_ speed things up a little? Snog her when she least expects it.”

“Ah,” Regina nods and pretends to think on it. “You see, sis. There’s something like that here in America. It’s called sexual harassment.”

“Oh, bollocks. Not in the spirit of Christmas,” Zelena counters and then she’s stepping up into Regina’s space all of a sudden, planting the wettest kiss on Regina’s cheek.

“See?” Zelena says and points upward. “Works wonders.” And then leaves.

Regina wipes her face and takes down the mistletoe as soon as she does. If she’s ever going to kiss Emma, it’s not going to be with disgusting slobber all over Emma’s cheek.

They leave at six. Regina really does try her best not to kick them out, but her mother’s dawdling and Zelena’s face is starting to get on her nerves.

“Remember, grooming every ten days. You don’t want that bloody furball hanking everywhere,” Zelena says as Regina’s shoving her purse into her hands. “Shall I come by tomorrow and -”

“No. Don’t come back for another two weeks,” Regina insists, and shuts the door in her face.

Silence. Regina relishes it for as long as she can.

“Mom, want me to start cleaning up?” Henry offers. He’s wearing his new bathrobe and slippers set. The sight of it makes her smile.

“Will you, sweetheart? I need a long hot bath after today.”

Especially now that Regina has nothing to distract her from the fact that Emma hasn’t replied to her text all day.

She checks her phone twice as she’s setting up upstairs, leaving the hot water running while pretending she isn’t restless and worried.

Maybe Regina should try texting her again?

She doesn’t have to. By the time her bath is ready, her phone flashes with a new message.

_So what’s pink and yellow and currently freezing her ass off on your front porch?_

Regina’s brow furrows in confusion just as she hears the front door open downstairs.

“I’m not kidding! Freezing popsicle holding presents h - _woah_ . Since when did you guys get a _dog_?” Emma yells.

“Emma!” Henry exclaims.

Regina scrambles to the top of the stairs, leaving her bath untouched, and finds them both buried in a tight hug.

Henry wiggles in her grip and tells her, “You’ve been gone for too long. It was a disaster without you here.”

Emma laughs. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It was so boring.”

“Totally explains the dog.”

“Aunt Zelena gave her to me. Her name’s Athena.”

“Oh.”

“Uh huh. And Mom missed you _so_ much,” Henry says, adding a giant emphasis on the _so_.

And that’s Regina’s cue to intervene before this gets any more humiliating.

“Well I missed you guys, too,” Emma says and peers up to meet Regina’s gaze. “Regina, hey.”

It’s like magic, the way the weight seems to lift off her chest and Regina’s heart suddenly feels lighter. She notices the slightly tanner skin and newly formed freckles on each of Emma’s cheeks. On her nose. Regina wants to walk up there and kiss them, wants to pull Emma into a hug and never let go.

Instead Regina clears her throat. “I assume you’re what’s pink and yellow and currently freezing at my doorstep.”

Emma gives her a toothy grin. “That would be me. I didn’t expect to be back this early but… I thought I’d surprise you guys.”

“Consider me surprised,” Regina teases. She thinks she might simultaneously combust when Emma stares at her for a moment and looks back down with a small smile.

“So Christmas mutiny, huh?”

“Like you wouldn’t imagine.”

“Emma, come on. We still have dessert,” Henry prompts and begins dragging her towards the kitchen. “Or, _wait_ . We can do _presents_ first.”

“Food first,” Regina says firmly.

And Emma just laughs and dumps her small pile of presents underneath the tree, right next to the two that are already there.

“Is there eggnog?” she asks.

Fifteen minutes later, they’re settled on the couch, with Henry leaning into Emma’s legs, asking question after question, while Emma munches on leftovers and sips a beer (her mother had literally inhaled all of the eggnog). Emma continues her stories on her adventures, about showing up in Arizona and immediately hating the heat. Of spending her first few days cramped up in her atrocious yellow bug on a stakeout before deciding her next stop would be the Grand Canyon.

“You’re taking me there someday, right?” Henry says, enthused. “Mom said you would.”

Emma glances at her in amusement. “Of course. It wouldn’t be any fun without my best sidekick.”

And Regina just… watches. She watches, because that’s all she can do. The time and distance has done nothing to alleviate her feelings for Emma. If anything, it’s made them stronger, like any minute now she might just explode. She almost considers ending her misery once and for all and giving Emma the benefit of the doubt by simply telling her tonight.

Almost.

But there’s still Henry to consider, who’s about as infatuated with Emma Swan as _she_ is. She can’t stand the thought of potentially ruining his Christmas if Emma rejects her and keeps her distance for a while.

Regina would rather suffer a thousand rejections than ever drive Emma away.

“Then there was Vegas,” Emma concludes. “I think I made more money gambling in a bunch of casinos than I did catching this guy. I have a great poker face, you know.”

Regina lets out a soft snort. “I beg to differ.”

She does, though. And it’s absolutely infuriating.

Emma places a hand over her chest in mock-shock. “I’ll have you know I was a two-time champ in the little league poker tournaments back in the day.”

“ _Little League_?” Regina goads.

“It was junior high,” Emma defends. “Middle schoolers are hardcore.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Henry says finally, who had been glancing between them knowingly and is now sporting an exasperated expression on his face. “Presents now?”

Regina sighs and gives in. “Presents.”

Henry crawls over to the tree excitedly and passes the gifts around, dropping a small, wrapped box about the size of a mouse onto her own lap. Regina picks it up and stares at it curiously.

_From Emma_

She spots Emma glancing at her from the corner of her eye.

“These two are for you, Emma,” Henry says and passes over Regina’s gift, as well as his poorly wrapped one.

Emma takes them with a strange smile on her face. “Thanks, kid.”

“Okay. Me first,” Henry contends and rips through the paper in a frenzy. His face breaks out into a smile when he discovers the ‘lightsabers’ inside, and Regina can only assume it’s going to be a Star Wars Christmas.

“Is this your Princess Leia poster?” Emma asks once she’s done unwrapping Henry’s gift, pulling out the poster she’s had her eyes on since she stepped foot into his room all those weeks ago.

“Yup.”

“Kid!” Emma exclaims. “And I didn’t have to pry it out of your comatose fingers!”

Regina can’t help it. She lets out a laugh that has Henry staring at them both in confusion. “What?”

“Don’t worry about,” Emma says, but she’s smiling, big and wide and it pulls at Regina’s heartstrings like nothing else. “I love it. Thank you.”

And then she’s opening Regina’s gift.

Regina watches her like a hawk, feeling nervous and unsure all at once. She’s starting to reconsider ever putting her picture in there, nonetheless her sweatshirt. But it’s too late to go back now.

Emma pulls out the picture frames first. Her fingers brush over the photo of her and Henry, and then stop on the one of her and Regina.

Regina holds her breath.

“I noticed you didn’t have a lot of photos in your apartment,” Regina says cautiously.

“I told her to get you something less lame,” Henry pipes up.

“No - no. This is perfect,” Emma declares, and if Regina didn’t know any better, she’d say Emma looks a bit teary-eyed. She carefully sets the picture frames aside and pulls out the sweatshirt next.

“You got me a sweatshirt?” Emma asks in surprise.

“Well, technically it was _mine_.”

“You gave me _your_ sweatshirt?” This time Emma’s dumbstruck.

“You left me yours,” Regina explains, careful. “So I’m giving you mine.”

Emma erupts into unexplainable laughter then, and Regina has no idea what hell she did wrong.

“ _Jesus_ \- okay. I -” She brings the collar up to her nose. “It smells like you.”

Regina winces, shamefaced. “I may have forgotten to wash it first.”

“It’s okay. I… I like it. Thank you,” Emma says and tugs it on over her head. Regina watches as Emma brings the sleeves up to her face, her forehead wrinkling with the most pensive, conflicted expression.

“You should open yours,” Emma says softly, when Regina’s caught staring again.

Regina nods and slowly unwraps the little box in her lap. Underneath the reindeer paper is a velvet box, which she opens before sucking in a sharp breath.

It’s a necklace.

It’s a beautiful silver necklace with an amethyst in the center of the pendent. Not too expensive, judging by what little she knows about jewelry. But certainly worth more than a picture frame or two.

“It’s your birthstone,” Emma hastily adds. “I mean, of course you know that. It’s uh - you mentioned your birthday being in February and I was going to wait until then, but it being the spirit of Christmas and all - I hope it’s not too cheesy. I thought it was elegant, like you, so -”

“Emma,” Regina says and stops whatever Emma is about to say next. There’s a lump in her throat she can’t get rid of as she adds, “I love it.”

Emma beams. And Regina just wants to cry.

“Do you… um, need help putting it on?” Emma asks after a moment.

She doesn’t, but she nods anyway and lets Emma slide her hair to the side, slipping it on over her neck and clasping it from the back. Her knuckles brush over Regina’s skin like fire.

She doesn’t think she can handle much more of this torture.

Henry regards them silently, but with a scrunched up face that can only mean disgust. “Ugh,” he says and stands up. “You guys are just so… gross. And you’re not even - I can’t watch anymore. I give up. Merry Christmas.”

Emma sits back in bewilderment. Regina touches the necklace on her chest and can’t think to reprimand him.

“Ok…” Emma says uncertainly.

“‘Night, Mom,” Henry says. “May the Force be with you, Emma.”

“Always, kid,” she calls as he marches grumpily up the stairs. “Merry Christmas,” she mumbles.

Regina doesn’t realize his departure means she’s alone with Emma until she’s _actually_ alone with Emma, and the thought absolutely terrifies her.

“Did I do something wrong?” Emma asks when neither one of them utters a word.

“No. He’s been moody lately,” Regina answers and stands up. She needs to distance herself from the situation as soon as possible. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Emma opens her mouth. “I - I can’t. I should be leaving soon. I have a client tonight.”

It shouldn’t hit Regina this hard. She should be accustomed to Emma’s _clients_ by now, even if the resentment consumes her like nothing else. But this hits her especially hard, when it’s Christmas and Regina hasn’t seen Emma in over _two weeks_ and -

She can’t do this anymore.

“Right,” Regina says coldly. “Don’t let the door hit you on your way out.”

She turns to march up the stairs like Henry had done, but Emma’s voice rings out from behind her and Regina - god forbid it - she stops.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Regina grits out and whirls around, latching onto Emma’s hurt gaze. “It’s been a long day, Emma. I’d like to go have my bath now.”

“But isn’t there -” Emma pauses by the doorway, her hands shoved into her back pockets and she looks so _small_. “I had a good time tonight. I thought - I mean I thought you did, too.”

“I did,” Regina says, honestly. But guarded. She can’t quite meet Emma’s eyes.

“And Henry…”

“He adores you,” Regina states. That’s always been true. “He loves spending time with you.”

“And you?” Emma asks and she’s staring at Regina, appearing almost frustrated, like she’s just _willing_ Regina to understand what she’s saying. Regina isn’t sure that she does. “Do you?”

“Of course I do,” Regina finally snaps. “We’re friends, Emma.”

“ _Friends_ ,” Emma repeats and she’s annoyed now, opening and closing her mouth as though there are a million things she wants to say but can’t. “You gave me your sweatshirt.”

Regina bristles. “You gave me a necklace.”

“You gave me a _key_ to your _house_ ,” Emma enunciates slowly, agitated. “For fucks’ sake, Regina. That brings a whole new meaning to lesbians and uhauling.”

“Excuse me?”

“Friends don’t just exchange sweatshirts like that, especially not when it’s wrapped up in pretty Christmas paper and fucking hearts,” Emma grinds out. “Friends don’t just give away their key to someone they cuddle with on a regular basis. None of this is what _friends_ do. So unless there’s more to all of this that you’re not letting on, then -”

Emma pauses and regards Regina in wonder, and Regina lets her mask slip before she can stop it.

“You _do_ like me,” Emma says quietly. It’s not a question.

Regina doesn’t say anything, but her heart is beating wildly against her ribcage.

“Like, not in the no-homo way either. More like the _yes-_ homo way, right? I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. I didn’t think you- I couldn’t tell -” Emma stares at her for another long, long moment.

And then she’s heading out the door.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back!”

The door slams shut, the knob rattling in the frame, and Regina is left staring at it, wondering how this night could end in such a disaster. She didn’t even get to admit her feelings out loud before Emma fled like a scared animal.

She’s about to lock up and drink her sorrows away when the door flies open again.

“Okay. So I might’ve canceled on my client and quit my job in the process,” Emma gasps, holding up her phone. “But you - oh, you are the biggest dick in the history of dicks, Mills. And I’ve _seen_ a lot of dicks. This whole time I was flirting and I thought you were flirting back and you never _said_ anything? So you give me this fucking sweatshirt instead -”

Regina’s mouth is on Emma’s in the span of a second and Regina’s kissing her before Emma’s back can even hit the door.

Emma’s back _does_ hit the door then, closing it completely shut. And she makes this sound in the back of her throat, against Regina’s mouth like she’s still surprised. But then it melts into a sort of needy _mewl_ and she has both hands fisted in Regina’s blouse and she’s kissing Regina back. Hard.

It’s the sort of spiraling kiss that Regina doesn’t think she can ever forget. She’s imagined what Emma’s lips would feel like for so long - when Emma would smile or laugh or bite her lip to hold in a laugh. None of it is anything like what she’s feeling right now, with the way Emma’s hands are clenched so tightly into her shirt, holding on to dear life. Drinking Regina in.

And then Emma is spinning them around and has Regina pressed up against the door in the blink of an eye.

“You asshole,” Emma gasps and Regina briefly wonders why the _hell_ Emma’s mouth is talking right now. “This whole time? You gave me your key and didn’t bother to -”

“Shut up,” Regina says.

Regina kisses her again.

She’s opened herself up to many different possibilities in this position, with Emma’s fingers digging into Regina’s hips and practically hoisting her up against the door. Regina doesn’t mind at all. She’s wrapping her arms around Emma’s neck, letting Emma deepen the kiss. This time it’s Regina mewling into Emma’s mouth as Emma works her hands from Regina’s hips to her ass.

“Harder,” Regina manages to say once Emma breaks away from her mouth to kiss her jaw. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for. Only that she wants Emma _closer_.

Emma’s lips drag a hot trail from Regina’s jaw, under the hinge, behind her ear, then to Regina’s neck.

“Like this?” Emma asks and she’s pressing and lifting Regina harder against the door. Regina’s dress rises all the way up to her hips, leaving her exposed. She has to stop herself from hiking her legs up and around Emma’s waist, and doing something obscene like grind into Emma’s stomach.

But god, does she want to.

“Like that,” Regina breathes out in agreement, and drags her teeth along Emma’s tendon before biting the soft patch of skin.

Emma hisses into her neck. “ _Fuck_ \- Regina. Okay - Yeah. Of course you’re a biter.”

Regina does it again. She can feel Emma’s pulse racing against her tongue. Regina wants to bring the skin above it between her teeth and make it go faster.

The whine that leaves Emma throat is desperate. When Emma’s lips are back on hers, Regina doesn’t get the chance to do any of the dirty, pornographic things she has in mind.

Because Henry’s voice interrupts them from the top of the stairs.

“You guys aren’t shagging right now, are you?”

They split apart so quickly, Regina nearly topples over face first. But Emma throws out a hand to keep her balanced.

Henry comes creeping down seconds later, shielding his eyes with a hand.

“Whatever it is you guys are doing, I’m sure my ten-year old eyes are too young to see it,” he says, eyes still shielded by his hand, as he crosses the foyer and heads straight for the kitchen.

In his ridiculously innocent blue bathrobe and matching slippers.

This whole situation is ridiculous, really. But Regina’s heart feels light, much lighter than she can remember it being in a long time. And her lips still tingle from where Emma’s mouth has been just minutes ago.

She can't help it. She lets out a soft laugh, which prompts Emma to join her and gets rid of the rising tension altogether.

Regina regards her. Emma’s face is flushed, her lips are red and swollen, and her hair is a disheveled mess. Regina wants to run her hands through it over and over again and make it more disheveled. But her body is already scorching with arousal and with her son just several feet away, that would be a very bad idea.

“So…” Emma is still smiling, her green eyes shining so brightly, Regina thinks she could probably get lost in them. “That happened.”

“It did,” Regina agrees and bites her lip. “You look like a mess.”

“ _I_ look like a mess?” Emma laughs. “You’re the one with lipstick all over your face. How does it even last that long?”

Regina rubs at the corner of her mouth, until Emma reaches out and does it for her. But Emma’s gaze is so soft when she does it, and she’s biting her own lip like she’s inwardly debating something.

Regina figures she knows what it is as Emma leans over and kisses her again.

It’s gentle. Nothing rushed or sexual about it. And it makes Regina’s stomach twist in the best kind of way.

“I didn't take you for a big softie, Swan,” Regina murmurs when Emma buries her face into the part where Regina’s neck and shoulder meet and just _hugs_ her.

“Shut up,” Emma mumbles into her neck. Regina shivers. “You don’t get to talk. You’ve been driving me crazy this whole time wondering if this was all one-sided and - waiting for _you_ to make the first move? It was killing me. I just - I couldn’t tell.”

“You’re the one with a junior ranking poker face,” Regina mutters in amusement.

“I didn’t even know you _owned_ a sweatshirt. And the photos of you and Henry? Seriously?”

“If I’m not mistaken, _you_ just quit your job.”

“It’s about time I found a new one, anyway,” Emma says.

Regina twirls a lock of hair around her finger and chuckles. She can’t argue with that.

“Come upstairs with me,” Regina says after a moment.

Emma is still holding onto her, not that Regina can possibly complain when it gives her the chance to run her hands through soft blonde curls.

“I can’t,” Emma says in return.

Regina frowns. “Why not?”

“Because,” Emma breathes in, and then she does something that Regina does _not_ expect. She takes the stretch of skin at the base of Regina’s throat between her teeth and actually _bites._

Regina gasps and arches into Emma.

“Because if I do, I’m going to fuck you. And I don’t think you want the kid listening to his mother’s screams all night,” Emma explains. Her mouth is still on that same spot, gently soothing the bite with her tongue.

Regina trembles against Emma’s hold. “Emma, I… _Mierda._ ”

Emma groans and drops her head back onto Regina’s shoulder. “I hope you realize my ovaries explode every time you curse in Spanish.”

“Yes. That explains a lot.” Regina tries to regain her bearings. Maybe if she slipped Henry some Nyquil before bed -

No.

“Okay,” Regina takes a shuddering breath and steps back. “You need to leave.”

Emma pouts. “But it’s cold outside.”

“Perfect. Then you won’t need to take a cold shower when you get home,” Regina tells her and opens the door. Emma just looks at her and gives her the goofiest grin.

“Does that mean you’re taking a cold shower, too?”

“ _Out_ , Swan,” Regina orders, even though she can’t hide her own damn smile.

Emma laughs, grabs her things and steps out into the snow-covered porch. She manages to take three steps before pausing. She turns back around.

Emma cups Regina’s face in her hands, kissing her one more time. It leaves Regina breathless.

“Sorry,” Emma exhales in a soft breath, not sounding sorry at all. “You have mistletoe hanging over your doorway. Tradition, you know?”

Her insufferable sister actually did something right for once.

“Merry Christmas, Regina,” Emma says and happily jogs the rest of the way down the driveway.

Regina watches until Emma is nothing but a speck in the distance, before finally whispering back, “Merry Christmas, Emma,” and closing the door.

She feels likes she’s floating in midair. Even with Henry silently judging her from the stairwell, holding a cup of milk, a plate of cookies, and an _unbearably_ smug expression.

“You’ve got lipstick hm... here. And… there.” He gestures to his entire face. But he’s donning the biggest grin as he scampers back up the stairs.

“I’m telling Aunt Zelena you snogged her!”

.

.

.

Regina still feels like she’s floating in midair.

Because it’s on this day, on this snowy Christmas night, that Regina Mills _did_ indeed snog Emma Swan.

It’s also on this day that Regina comes to one startling realization. And that realization goes like this -

She’s utterly and stupidly in love with Emma Swan.

And there’s absolutely nothing she can do about it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've reached the end!
> 
> I haven't had the chance to reply to everyone who commented on the last chapter. Just know that I appreciate everyone's words and they mean the world to me <3 Thank you.
> 
> Thank you for following this story and giving it a shot. I'm amazed by the response, honestly. And hopefully you guys will enjoy whatever else I have to bring.
> 
> This chapter's dedicated to Mari (floweryjmo) over on twitter. Thanks for being the most supportive cheerleader hun <3 and getting me to say papi in this fic lmao
> 
> This chapter is also rated E for Excellent sex. It should be fairly easy to skim through if this makes you uncomfortable.

The next morning, Regina wakes up with a very large hickey on her neck.

A hickey roughly the size of the titanic.

She wishes she could say she’s exaggerating. But just a glimpse of it while looking in the mirror has her cursing Emma Swan’s very existence.

It also has her smiling like a pathetic schoolgirl.

A pathetic schoolgirl who hardly slept a wink the whole night, content in just replaying the kiss over and over again in her head. Even now she can still taste Emma’s chapstick, feel Emma’s hands on her cheeks, her mouth on Regina’s neck.

It’s infuriating as it is addicting.

Particularly when all Regina wants to do is get her hands on Emma all over again.

It’s not even eight o’clock when she receives an incoming Facetime call. Hitting accept is purely accidental. So is Zelena’s shrill voice this early in the morning -

“So a little birdie - his name is Henry - told me you snogged her.”

Regina rubs her temple in agitation. May she rest in peace after this conversation.

“That little birdie would be correct.”

Zelena’s face turns pompous on the screen. Regina wants to wipe it right off. “Goodness, sis. I mean, not even denying it at this point. It’s almost as if you’re -”

The rest of Zelena’s words come to a screeching halt, her beady eyes squinting into her phone.

“Is that a bloody love bite on your neck?”

Regina immediately moves her free hand to cover her throat.

“No.”

“You shameless cunt. Yes it is. My god, it’s _horrid_ -”

Regina ends the call before she can utter another word. It’s bad enough Regina can still feel the hickey throbbing beneath her skin. Now to have it displayed for the whole world to see -

She snaps a picture and types out a brief message for Emma.

**_You sure know how to wreak havoc with that mouth of yours, Miss Swan._ **

Luckily Regina doesn’t have to wait long.

_Holy shit! I did that??_

**_I don’t recall anyone else leaving their mark on me last night_ **

_;)_

_Well I think it’s a good look for you_

Regina smirks at her phone. **_Oh really?_ **

_Yup_

_Guess it’s time to play truth or truth_

Regina’s fingers pause over the screen. She furrows her brow, her heart is racing as she types back -

**_What do you mean?_ **

Emma’s reply doesn’t come immediately. It makes Regina’s stomach curdle in discomfort. She doesn’t quite expect the response that comes afterward either. Or the way her chest feels like it’s about to burst with these sudden influx of emotions.

 

 

.

.

.

C8H11NO2+C10H12N2O+C43H66N12O12S2

Dopamine, Serotonin, and Oxytocin. For anyone who doesn’t know, this is the chemical formula for love. Love, a word which here means a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person. Overdosing on any of them can potentially cause insanity.

There really isn’t a point to any of this. But Regina is pretty sure that Emma Swan is going to drive her fucking insane.

.

.

.

The next time she sees Emma again, it’s later that morning.

And it isn’t _weird_ or anything like that. But it is difficult. Because Henry is standing three feet away when Emma arrives through the front door, cheeks pink and cold, and she’s wearing that ridiculous beanie on her head again.

Regina wants nothing more than to pull her face forward and kiss her.

“Brr, it’s cold!” she cheerfully exclaims. “Kid, you’re gonna have to hug me and transfer some of that body heat if you want me to live.”

“We’re leaving in like, _two_ minutes,” Henry laughs.

“That’s two minutes you could be saving my life,” Emma says with a hand over her chest in faux-outrage. Her eyes meet Regina’s then and they soften, her smile turning almost timid.

“Hey,” Emma breathes out in greeting.

Regina always thought the expression ‘butterflies in your stomach’ was an absurd superstition. Now, not so much.

Regina hates them.

“Hey, yourself,” Regina breathes back. She takes a step forward, conscious of Henry peering back and forth between them.

He rolls his eyes in exasperation. “ _Ugh_. Are you guys going to be weird now?”

He grumbles something about grabbing his coat and leaves. As soon as he does, Regina doesn’t waste any time. She grabs Emma by the collar and tugs her in for a deep and much needed kiss.

“You know, you can do that anytime you want and I’ll warm up just fine,” Emma sighs when Regina finally lets her breathe. “Missed you, too, by the way.”

Regina hums in response and kisses her again. It’s not like she can control herself at any rate when Emma smells _this_ good.

“What can I say? You know how to leave your mark behind.”

Emma puffs out a small laugh against Regina’s mouth, her nose nuzzling over Regina’s jaw line. “Like a giant hickey you’re unsuccessfully hiding behind this turtleneck?”

“More or less,” Regina says in a shaky breath. Emma’s hands are on her sides, running down her hips.

That’s another thing Regina can definitely get used to. The _touching_.

“Ahem,” Henry clears his throat in an exaggerated cough. Regina nearly trips in her haste to spring away.

“They stop serving pancakes at _one_ , Mom. Emma will still be here. Pancakes _won’t_ ,” Henry explains in a scolding tone. Regina rubs a hand over her face in disgrace.

Emma muffles her laughter behind her hand.

“You’re right, kid. Let’s go get those pancakes.”

* * *

He holds both their hands on the way to the diner.

Regina should find it strange. Worrying, even, that he’s getting too attached when it’s all so _new_. But Regina doesn’t.

Find it strange, that is. Or worrying.

And judging by the content expression on her face, Emma doesn’t either.

When they arrive, Marian is already waiting for them at a booth, her son Roland at her side. Henry immediately rushes to them in a flurry of all talk and excitement, just as Regina decides she’s going to need an extra cup of coffee for the conversation that is bound to ensue.

“Henry, look at you! You’ve gotten so big!” Marian exclaims.

“My mom feeds me broccoli all the time,” he says with pride, and then with some trepidation, “Don’t tell her, but it tastes like ass.”

“ _Henry_ ,” Regina chides.

But Marian just laughs. “ _Wow_ , you haven’t changed at all. Still have your mother’s cheek, I see.”

“More like my sister’s hysteria,” Regina sighs and gestures for Emma to take a seat, who looks like she’s trying not to laugh. “Emma, this is my friend and coworker, Marian, and her son, Roland. Marian, this is Emma. My…”

“She’s Mom’s girlfriend,” Henry adds unnecessarily, and pretends to whisper, “You missed all the lowdown. They’re _smitten_.”

“ _Henry_ ,” Regina hisses again, mortified. Beside her, Emma isn’t even trying to hide her laughter this time.

“It’s true,” Henry defends.

“You can’t just assume -”

“That I didn’t see you guys snogging?” Henry blurts with certainty. “ _Twice_.”

“What’s snogging?” Roland chirps from his corner, his little four-year old hands digging into his napkin.

Henry opens his mouth. “It’s -”

And that’s one word too much. “Alright. That’s enough,” Regina says firmly, who can’t be any more embarrassed if she tries. “Henry, one more word out of you and you’ll be eating oatmeal for lunch.”

Henry clamps his mouth shut, thoroughly chastised now that his pancakes are on the line.

Marian, on the other hand, is leaning forward, elbows on the table. And looking far too engrossed by it all for this to be a casual vendez-vous.

“So how did you two meet?” Marian asks, amused. Regina sighs inwardly.

“She slammed the door in my face,” Emma replies, speaking for the first time since they’ve arrived.

“ _No_ ,” Marian gasps. “Why?”

Emma shrugs before throwing Regina a coy look. “I guess I was mistaken for a prostitute.”

“Wow.”

“I’m actually a Professional Cuddler,” Emma nods, before thoughtfully adding, “Or was.”

“Those exist?”

“Yup.”

“That’s just… Wow,” Marian stammers and leans back into her seat. “Look, no offense, but that all sounds like some weird, cliché lesbian romcom or something.”

“ _Right_?”

Regina wishes there’s a way to politely die at the table. She can’t handle any more of this, especially when she’s barely through the day and hasn’t had a single cup of coffee to negate this sort of humiliation.

“Excuse me.”

She excuses herself quickly and ducks into the restroom, locking herself in one of the old, rickety stalls. She can breathe again, if only for a moment. Though something tells her she isn’t going to survive through the rest of brunch.

Regina hears the door open then, and Emma’s voice echoing over the empty stalls. “Regina?”

“In here,” Regina answers, albeit reluctantly.

The door closes and Emma’s footsteps can be heard closing the distance, until they stop just outside of Regina’s stall.

“Hey,” Emma says hesitantly. “You okay?”

“Mhmm,” is all Regina can say. She has her back leaned against the far wall. She senses Emma hesitate again.

“I’m sorry if all of that made you uncomfortable,” Emma finally says, her boots scuffing the floor from where the door hovers above it. “I should’ve said something when Henry called me your girlfriend.”

Regina’s forehead wrinkles in confusion.

“We never actually… talked about it. But it didn’t even occur to me that maybe what you wanted was something less serious and more casual and… I get that. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Calling you my girlfriend would probably be one of the best things that can happen to me. But… you call the shots, okay? I understand if you don’t -”

She doesn’t let Emma finish. The rest of her words morph into a surprised squeak as Regina lurches the door open, Emma nearly toppling over. Regina pulls her inside, silencing whatever words are about to fall out of Emma’s mouth.

By slamming her lips onto Emma’s.

“ _Jesus_ , Regina,” Emma gasps once she has Regina pinned in a stronghold against the wall, not that Regina is complaining. “You really need to stop surprising me with these kiss attacks.”

Regina kisses a path down Emma’s neck and smirks. “You mean don’t stop?”

Emma groans. “Right. What the hell am I thinking? Don’t stop.”

Her mouth finds Regina’s again in a frenzied kiss.

Regina can barely control herself. She’s insistent and demanding and wants Emma’s mouth on every inch of her skin.

“Emma,” she whispers, and Emma actually moves the turtle neck aside to get to her neck. There was a reason for doing this that didn’t just involve making out in a dinky bathroom stall.

Regina just can’t _think_.

“Hm?” Emma hums against her throat.

Regina trembles and urges Emma to move her hands, which are sitting motionless at her waist.

“I -” Regina practically chokes. She squeezes her eyes shut as those hands shift from Regina’s hips to underneath her shirt. Skin against skin. “Damn it - Emma. Just _touch_ me.”

The demand is emphasized with Regina jerking Emma’s hand further up underneath Regina’s shirt and planting it right over her breast. Regina squeezes her hand over Emma’s, prompting Emma to squeeze back.

Regina lets out a moan that echoes into the bathroom and has Emma burying her face into Regina’s neck.

“Fuck,” Emma groans, raising her head to meet Regina’s eyes. “I think maybe we should…”

“Stop?” Regina finishes. But she’s shamelessly closing the inch between them, arching into Emma’s body.

Emma pins her harder against the wall. “Not when you’re doing _that_.”

Regina doesn’t mention the fact that Emma’s hand is still on her breast. She bites at Emma’s lower lip though, letting her hands run down Emma’s back.

“What are you doing this Friday?”

“You’re asking me that _now_?” Emma says, but she’s back to kissing Regina’s neck again. Regina tilts her head to give Emma better access, digging her nails into Emma’s shoulders.

“I want you to come over,” Regina manages to get out in between pants. “You said you want to call me your girlfriend. This is your chance.”

Emma pulls back, her dark-eyed stare melting into something more serious.

“You mean like a date?”

Regina moves her fingers from Emma’s shoulders, gently cupping Emma’s face in her hands.

“Yes, Emma,” Regina answers softly, latching onto Emma’s vulnerable gaze with all the sincerity that she can gather. “Like a date.”

Emma’s lips curl up into a cheeky grin. “So we can eat pizza and go disco dancing after?”

“Not in your lifetime.”

Emma laughs, happily, and tugs Regina back in to kiss her again.

“It’s a date, then.”

* * *

 

It’s a date.

Regina wonders if there are rules dedicated to this sort of thing. Whether there’s an unspoken principle that forbids you from seeing your date _before_ the night of your date, or if it’s all in her head. Because Emma comes over two more times that week.

Regina doesn’t think so. But then again, she assumes most people are able to stay casual before a first date. When it comes to Emma, however, casual is flung out the window.

There’s nothing casual at all when it comes to all the _touching_.

And there’s _a lot_ of it.

Whether it’s a hand on her waist, a lingering kiss on her cheek, or a simple hand-hold, Regina is insatiable. She’s almost ashamed to admit it - if anyone had told her months ago that she would turn out to be such an affectionate twit, she would have set them on fire. But here she is now.

Regina Mills, Affectionate Twit.

Quite frankly, Emma isn't much better.

It’s just… in a more outrageous manner.

“You guys don’t have to keep sneaking kisses when I’m not looking. I see everything,” Henry points out from his spot on the floor.

They’re settled in the living room one Wednesday night. Regina had just sunk into the couch beside Emma after putting dinner in the oven, when Emma had leaned over suddenly and nuzzled the space behind Regina’s ear. She pulled away as soon as Henry turned his head to look.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Emma says nonchalantly. Regina rolls her eyes.

“I’m not blind, Emma,” Henry grumbles. “My eye doctor says I have 20/20 vision.”

“Uh huh.”

“I even have eyes on the back of my _head_.”

As if to prove his point, he shifts over on the floor until his back is turned to them. Just as quickly, Regina is caught off guard by the sudden kiss Emma plants on her, which spurs Henry to whip back around with a knowing -

“ _There! See?_ I saw that!”

“You’re seeing things, kid.”

“ _Liar_!”

Later, once their childish feud comes to an end and they’re swinging lightsabers at each other, Regina wonders three things.

“If only you knew the _power_ of the Dark Side. Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.”

“You killed my father!”

“No, Henry,” Emma mimics. And honestly, the Darth Vader impression is rather awful. “I _am_ your father.”

As Henry drops down to his knees with the most dramatic, ear-splitting ‘ _NOOO’_ Regina has _ever_ witnessed, she first wonders how she ever managed to raise such a colossal nerd.

She also wonders about her taste in women.

And lastly, Regina wonders if this is what Emma had meant all those nights ago about finding the missing piece to the puzzle.

Because this right here?

This feels like the final piece that was missing all along.

* * *

When Friday comes along, Regina would be lying if she says she isn’t a nervous wreck.

Even with days of preparation, she hasn’t _quite_ planned out the night, or figured out what people do on first dates. She’s been thinking having a night in would suffice; cooking a nice pot roast, drinking cider by a fire.

Except, when she opens the fridge, she discovers there is no roast to cook.

And Henry is dawdling around in his pajamas.

“Henry, what are you doing? Why aren’t you dressed?” Regina asks, agitated. She has nothing to cook and nothing to wear.

She hasn’t even texted Emma yet and this night is already going terribly, terribly wrong.

“I am,” Henry answers, gesturing to his pajamas.

“To go to _Joshua’s_.”

“Joshua’s in Sweden, Mom,” he tells her, in a condescending tone that would’ve had Regina smacking his little behind if she didn’t have bigger issues to deal with.

“ _Still_?” Regina says. “Are his parents taking him on a six month vacation or is Sweden just one of happiest places on Earth right now?”

“It’s definitely happier than America,” Henry points out, wrinkling his nose.

So she calls Zelena.

By the time seven rolls around, she has gone through every article of clothing in her closet and is no closer to selecting anything than she was an hour ago when she was about to have a stroke.

“What do you think?” she asks Henry, and Zelena, who are standing at her bedroom door donning matching expressions of boredom on their faces. “The black dress or the red one?”

“Hmm… let’s see. Is someone dead or are you going more for the Nuns Gone Wild look?” Zelena offers, motioning to each dress with a hand.

Regina lowers the dresses, somewhat offended.

“You should wear the blue one with the zipper,” Henry suggests. “Emma likes that one.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“She likes to look at your butt when you’re in it,” he says.

When Regina and Zelena simply stare at him, he shrugs one shoulder and taps the side of his head as if that’s supposed to mean something.

“Eyes on the back of my head, Mom. Remember?”

She wears the blue dress.

With dining inside being a bust, Regina decides she can have Emma choose whatever she wants, even if that includes making late reservations. It doesn’t occur to her that these sorts of things usually involve flowers and other romantic gestures, but it must have occurred to Emma, because she shows up carrying… lilies.

And looking far more edible than Regina anticipates.

Her coat is a lovely variation from her usual red leather jacket. Underneath the red coat is a leather dress Regina has never laid eyes on, probably because she has never actually _seen_ Emma in a dress before. It’s form-fitting and complements the heels she has on quite nicely.

Regina wants to rip it right off of her.

“Hi,” Emma says cheerfully, oblivious to Regina’s struggle _not_ to ruin Emma’s pretty dress. “Sorry I’m late. I realized I left the flowers and had to run back home to get them. They’re… um. They’re lilies.”

“I see that,” Regina says, but there’s a pleasant fluttering in her chest she can’t get rid of. And a disgustingly fond smile on her face as she accepts them.

“They’re beautiful, Emma. Thank you.”

Emma ducks her head with a bashful smile and says, “I didn’t know what flowers you liked. They’re mostly pink stargazers and yellow ones, which, you know, are supposed to mean romance and joy. I think the flower shop guy purposely snuck an orange one in there, though.”

“What does orange mean?”

“Passion,” Emma shrugs offhandedly. But her eyes lock onto Regina’s with intent. “Burning desire.”

Regina holds her breath. Her loose plans are going to fly out the window at this rate.

“Ugh. It’s like watching a bloody porno with you two. Honestly,” Zelena says in distaste, who pops up out of nowhere, followed by Henry.

Regina had forgotten they were still here.

“Are you done lounging around or will you be leaving anytime soon?” Regina asks dryly.

“I think we’ll be taking our leave, actually. Now that you’ve scarred us all,” Zelena says, and then to Henry, “How about we leave these two twats to their date and go watch some Barnie? You do like Barnie, don’t you?”

“Aunt Zelena. I’m ten,” Henry says.

“Brilliant. We’ll put it on when we get home.”

Emma stops her before she can walk out the door. “Oh, hey. Thanks for doing this, by the way.”

“Nonsense, Blondie. You’re family now,” Zelena says, and waves a hand in indifference. “Which also means if you hurt her,” and she gestures to Regina in all seriousness, “You better believe I’ll be going British on your scrawny arse. And I will bloody well destroy you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

Zelena smiles broadly and wags her fingers in salute. “ _Wonderful_. Ta ta, dears!”

Henry steps aside to hug Regina quickly, his little arms wrapping around her waist before he motions for her to lean down. Regina does so, curiously.

“You’re happy now, right?” he asks, cupping a hand over his mouth in a whisper.

The words cause Regina’s heart to melt. She nearly tears up as she rubs a thumb over his cheek.

“Henry. I’ve always been happy,” Regina tells him, whispering back. “ _You_ make me happy.”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Well _yeah_. But... you’re happier. You smile more.”

“I do.”

“And your eyes get all mushy when you look at Emma. Kind of like they do with me. Like… when you love something so much it hurts.”

Regina answers with a watery smile. “Perhaps.”

“So you’re happy,” Henry says again. Deliberate. “Right?”

“Yes,” she replies with all the honesty she can muster, and brings her lips to his forehead. “Very, very much so.”

Henry regards her for a long, thoughtful moment. Then he nods his head once, satisfied.

“Good.”

He turns to hug Emma next, quick, before rushing to follow Zelena out the front door, closing it behind him.

Regina stands up from where she’s crouched. She wipes a few stray tears from her eyelids and hopes she hasn’t just ruined her mascara.

“Are you okay?” Emma asks, once the silence extends and Regina is still standing with a bouquet of flowers in her hands.

That snaps her out of it.

“Yes,” Regina says and smiles, more genuine. “I’ll go ahead and put these in a vase. Did you want something to drink in the meantime? Cider?”

“Got anything stronger?”

Regina holds back a snort and makes her way to the kitchen. There’s that strange tension in the air that Regina knows is all her, resting over her shoulders along with her nerves. She sets the lilies aside in a glass vase, then takes out a glass - two of them - because she’s going to need to loosen the edge off with a side of whiskey.

“I’ll be honest. I’d planned to make dinner and have this be a night in,” Regina says and hands Emma a glass.

Their fingers brush in the exchange, and it takes every bit of Regina’s willpower not to brush them over the inside of Emma’s wrist and -

She doesn’t know what she wants to do.

Or rather, she _does_. And that’s the problem.

Emma grins. “Plans fell through?”

“Of a sort.”

Emma chuckles then; and it’s so incredibly endearing, the way Emma’s face lights up in amusement, the way her dress hugs her figure perfectly.

“We can still always eat out,” Emma suggests, unaware of Regina’s internal dilemma. “There’s this great place just outside of Brooklyn we wouldn’t need reservations for.”

“Oh?”

“They make awesome meat pies,” Emma adds playfully.

“Or. We can stay in,” Regina says slowly, her voice suddenly hoarse. “And save yourself the trouble of covering up that dress.”

Emma pauses mid-sip. Her gaze lands on Regina over a long stretch of silence before she places her glass on the table.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me, Mills.”

“Perhaps I am.”

Emma continues to stare. The tension is creeping back, but this time Regina is painfully aware of what it is. It’s about as distinct as the throbbing surfacing in her veins.

“Fuck it,” Emma mutters. And she’s crossing the distance, palming Regina’s face between her hands and drawing Regina in for a frantic kiss.

Regina immediately tugs at Emma’s shoulders, down her forearms, yanking her closer. She finds her nerves are suddenly gone and in their place is this _need_ to rip Emma’s clothes right off.

“Sorry,” Emma rumbles against the spot just beneath Regina’s ear. “I really like this dress on you.”

Regina curls a hand into Emma’s hair, pulling her back just enough to kiss her deeply and thoroughly.

“Upstairs,” Regina breathes against Emma’s mouth. “Now.”

Emma’s eyes widen slightly before darkening even further. “Right now?”

Regina’s response is made very clear as she takes the skin around Emma’s tendon and bites.

“Now.”

Emma gasps. Her grip on Regina’s hips tightens, before she yanks the hem of Regina’s dress upward. “Now. Right,” she agrees. “Right fucking now.”

The trip to the bedroom is a chaotic blur. They stumble up the stairs, articles of clothing strewn every which way. Emma forgoes the zipper on Regina’s dress and nearly tears if right off instead, flinging it somewhere over the couch, along with Emma’s stockings. Regina’s pretty sure her bra is hanging off the stairwell railing at this point.

“Maybe we should -” Emma begins, only to groan when Regina tilts her head in and takes Emma’s nipple in her mouth.

They’re about a foot away from the bed. Regina can’t seem to stop putting her hands on Emma, down her toned stomach. Over smooth skin and full breasts.

Whatever Emma had been about to say flies over Regina’s head when she can’t _think_.

“Go slow?” Regina manages to finish for her.

“No. Fast is good,” Emma hastily says, and she’s tipping them over the edge of the bed, bringing Regina into her lap. “Fast, then slow. Then maybe later you can show me what you were hiding underneath that towel.”

Regina’s eyes widen. “You -”

But Emma kisses her again, deep and hard and Regina finds herself bracing her hands on Emma’s shoulders. Emma’s hands are digging into her ass, urging Regina to rock into her. Regina is vaguely aware that she already is - grinding herself into Emma’s lap, struggling to find some sort of rhythm.

“Emma… I -” She feels like her body is on fire. She's panting against Emma’s mouth, searching for any words.

“I need - I need to touch you -”

“Here,” Emma whispers into her ear, before guiding Regina’s hand down past her stomach.

Her last article of clothing. Regina is able to yank Emma’s panties down enough to fully touch her, her fingers slipping into slick heat.

And god - Emma is so, so _wet_ . Regina is already having a hard time controlling herself without having to watch Emma collapse on her back, breasts heaving; her body arching and shaking against Regina’s touch. The noise Emma makes is something between a moan and a sob. It drives Regina absolutely _insane._

She practically rips off whatever's left of Emma’s underwear - or rather, _literally_ rips it off. The article is left in shreds by the time she flings it off the bed and Emma bursts out into breathless laughter.

“I can't believe you just -”

“Oh hush,” Regina says in amusement.

“No one’s ever _ripped_ my underwear to get me naked before.”

And Regina emphasizes her point by curling her thumb against Emma’s clit, twisting a finger inside of her. Two.

The rest of Emma’s words turn into a never-ending string of swearing, breathless encouragement, and it's pushing Regina nearly past the brink.

“Regina,” Emma gasps and Regina puts her mouth on any part of Emma that she can reach - her breasts, neck, shoulder. “I’m almost -”

But she doesn't get to finish. Regina bites down hard on Emma’s collarbone, which surprisingly isn't what does it for Emma.

“Emma,” Regina says in a soft exhale, curling her fingers just _so_ . “Emma - _damn it._ Te quiero dentro de mi. _Y después quiero que me cojas_.”

Emma whimpers and that’s it. Regina feels Emma’s hips buck sharply against hers, and Emma is coming around Regina’s fingers. It’s the sort of image Regina never, ever wants to forget; Emma’s chest heaving against hers, slick with sweat; her lips parted and face bright with an afterglow.

Regina topples over as gracefully as she can, but she can’t seem to summon the energy to move entirely. So she just lays half on top of Emma, both of them catching their breath until Emma lets out an unexpected laugh.

“What?” Regina asks. The insecurity washes over her within seconds.

“Nothing,” Emma says, shaking her head. But she’s smiling so widely. And her face is still so bright. “Just… that was great. _Really_ great. You’re good at that.”

Regina flushes. She bites back her own smile. Mostly because she feels unbelievably smug right now.

“I guess this means no dinner then,” Emma says.

“We can still go,” Regina offers guiltily. “I wanted us to go to a nice restaurant. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking - you came all dressed up and -”

“Regina, it’s okay. Seriously,” Emma assures her, delighted. “Are you kidding me? That was the greatest start to a date ever. Normally people wait until _after_. But you… you practically pounced.”

Regina chokes out a laugh. “I’m not the one who pounced first.”

“Okay. But have you _seen_ you?” Emma points out. She tugs Regina back onto her lap until they’re both sitting up. Emma runs her hands over Regina’s stomach, down her sides, where Regina’s breath hitches as those hands lightly brush over her breasts.

“And then dirty talking me into an orgasm like we’re in some Spanish porno?”

Regina chuckles shakily. “It was hardly porn.”

Emma’s hands knead into her breasts more firmly, tweaking Regina’s nipples. The startled little gasp that staggers in Regina’s throat turns into heavy breathing. She twines her fingers into Emma’s hair.

“Say something else.”

Regina almost wants to laugh, but is finding it difficult with Emma’s lips trailing up her throat.

“I don’t think so.”

“Please?” Emma urges sweetly, her hands shifting from Regina’s breasts to her ass, jerking Regina even closer.

“Emma…”

“Your heart’s beating fast,” Emma remarks.

And Regina exhales a trembling sigh before bringing Emma’s lips to hers. And _only_ for Emma’s amusement -

“ _Cojeme papi_ ,” Regina mutters into Emma’s mouth.

Emma rears back slightly, surprised. “Wait. Did - did you just call me _Daddy_?”

Regina’s face heats up in embarrassment. But there’s something in Emma’s eyes that makes Regina falter - something dark and carnal.

“What did you say before?” Emma asks, when Regina doesn’t answer. “When I was…”

Regina swallows. “I said I want you inside me.” She pulls her hands away from Emma’s hair, lets them settle over her shoulders instead. “Quiero que me cojas. I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Emma whispers, appearing somewhat dazed. But her eyes never leave Regina’s for a long, heavy moment. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Regina is caught off guard when Emma rolls them over, tracing kisses down Regina’s stomach, over her hips.

Regina shivers in anticipation. “What about dinner?”

Emma kisses her thighs, before sliding Regina’s panties off completely. “About to have mine.”

Regina rolls her eyes, however half-hearted the gesture is. But her body is thrumming, heated with desire, and she can’t quite process what she wants until her thoughts are leaving her mouth -

“You said you were curious to know what was underneath that towel.”

Emma stops, her gaze locking onto Regina’s for a thick second. “Where is it?”

Regina points to her dresser. “First drawer.”

Emma hastily scrambles to the dresser, which Regina would find amusing if she isn’t turned on as all hell and fidgeting impatiently.

“Santa’s Little Helper?” Emma asks out of the blue, holding up Zelena’s Christmas gift.

Regina blows out a breath in frustration. “Don’t ask. Try the other one.”

Emma snickers, but shrugs and pulls out the strap-on, glancing at Regina before promptly disappearing into the bathroom. Judging by the sound of running water, Regina assumes it’s to sterilize it.

By the time Emma returns, Regina is practically squirming. She can’t quite describe the feeling she has upon seeing Emma naked, straps tied to her hips. Phallus… well, _that_ protruding from the gap between Emma’s thighs. But it makes Regina’s blood pump faster.

Emma crawls onto the bed, halting just over Regina’s knees.

“Spread your legs for me,” Emma commands softly, and Regina does so almost shamelessly.

When Emma’s gaze lingers on her, Regina hesitates. “What?”

“Just… I’d been envisioning what you would look like naked for the longest time,” Emma says bluntly.

A shiver spikes up Regina’s spine. She raises a brow. “And?”

“Better than anything I’d ever imagined,” Emma answers without a doubt, ducking her head.

And suddenly Emma’s mouth is on her.

It’s completely unexpected. Regina gasps and twists her hands into Emma’s hair, bucking her hips into Emma’s insistent mouth. The movement causes her teeth to scrape lightly over Regina’s clit, like a shockwave coiling through her body. Regina is _trembling_.

“Emma,” she groans. Despite the complaint in her tone, Regina’s knees part even further and she’s rocking herself in a jerky rhythm against Emma’s tongue.

“Don’t _tease_ me,” Regina grinds out.

“No teasing,” Emma claims, far too innocently to be anything but a lie. “Why would I do that?”

She bites down on the inside of Regina’s thigh, pulling a yelp from Regina’s throat. And slowly, ever _so_ slowly, Emma eases a finger inside her, and it takes a great amount of effort on Regina’s part not to whine incoherently.

But she does choke out a sob.

“You’re so wet,” Emma says in amazement.

Regina can imagine. Considering all things.

She should’ve known Emma Swan would be the biggest fucking tease of the century.

When Emma simply adds another finger, curling them upward, Regina mewls and jerks her hips against them.

“ _Emma_.”

“Patience,” Emma says, as if Regina _ever_ had any patience in the first place. Emma leans over then and swirls her tongue around a nipple, _still_ knuckle-deep inside Regina. “How do you say pussy in Spanish, anyway?”

And Regina - Regina wants to laugh, but mostly she wants to kill her.

“Various ways,” she huffs out, tilting her head back with a sigh as Emma climbs up to kiss her neck. “ _Chocha’s_ a vulgar way of saying it.”

“So if I were to say I want to eat your pussy?”

Emma clamps her teeth down on the spot between Regina’s neck and shoulder. Regina sucks in a harsh breath.

“ _Emma_ , I - _god_ that’s vulgar. _Quiero comer tu chocha_.”

“What about I want to fuck you?”

“ _Te quiero cojer_.”

Regina is about ready to snap as Emma pulls her fingers out. Except Regina doesn’t quite expect the feeling of Emma pushing inside her, something much larger, as slowly as she can. And Regina is left drawing in a gasp, rolling her hips up to meet Emma’s instinctively.

Emma’s hands immediately slide to Regina’s hips, holding them still for a moment. Even as Emma is buried completely inside her.

Their gazes lock. “Is this okay?” Emma asks, unsure.

Regina doesn’t answer. Instead she tugs Emma closer, Emma’s hands landing on the bed on either side of Regina’s shoulders. The motion causes Regina to moan into Emma’s mouth, into her neck. She bucks her hips up again, willing Emma to move.

“Yes,” Regina agrees in a quivering whisper. “Just fuck me.”

Emma nips gently at her lower lip. “I am.”

Regina fists her hands into the sheets beneath her, gritting out, “Emma, _please._ Just move -”

Regina shifts and Emma automatically responds with a hard thrust. The force of it shoves Regina back into the headboard, and she hisses, bracing a hand against it.

“Like that?”

“Like that,” Regina sighs out, twining a hand into Emma’s hair and drawing her in for a desperate kiss.

Her other hand is still pressed up against the headboard as Emma pushes back again, much harder this time. It surges up Regina’s spine like a bolt. Regina hikes her knees up and around Emma’s waist, locking her ankles, pulling Emma in deeper. After which their bodies begin to rock in a steady rhythm.

“Like that,” Regina repeats hoarsely.

And Regina… isn’t so quiet, she realizes.

Every thrust, every bite, every kiss is met with a continuous whine of positive noises that Regina can’t stop even if she wants to. She claws her nails down Emma’s back, digging them into her shoulder blades.

Regina also must have gotten into the habit of dirty talking from Emma, because she nips at Emma’s earlobe and whispers -

“You feel amazing inside me.”

Emma’s response is to stop for a second - “ _Jesus,_ Regina,” she groans. She grips Regina’s ass, arching their hips together, and Regina actually cries out. _Loudly_.

Thank the ever living God she sent Henry away.

“Emma… _Emma_ , I need - I’m-” Rather than say it out loud, Regina blindly takes Emma’s hand in her own and guides it between her legs.

And that’s it. At the first press of fingers against Regina’s clit, Regina is sent over the edge. It coils up her stomach tightly. She lets out a sob that echoes off the walls, her whole body bowing in a tense curve before collapsing back onto the bed, boneless.

Regina can now safely say that if she had a dime for every successful orgasm, she’d have far, far more than a nickel.

Emma pulls out eventually, untying the straps around her hips and tossing the harness somewhere in the vicinity of the bathroom. She drops back onto the bed, dragging Regina with her until Emma is more or less half sprawled over Regina’s chest.

Regina takes a moment to catch her breath, before releasing it with a soft laugh.

Emma grins back at her. “So that was…”

“Yes,” Regina agrees and smiles, running a hand through Emma’s hair with the sort of unfathomable affection she doesn’t know what to do with. “It was.”

“I’m ready for dessert when you are,” Emma states seriously.

Regina breathes out a snort. “You’re insatiable.”

“But you love me for it,” Emma points out. And Regina pauses.

She considers her reply before finally admitting to it. “I do.”

Emma tilts her head, peering up at her from where her cheek is pressed up against Regina’s breast.

“Yeah?”

Regina visibly swallows, but nods as confidently as she can. When Emma breaks out into a wide smile, something inside Regina’s chest just… unlocks.

“Yeah,” Emma says in a whisper, stroking a thumb down Regina’s stomach. “Me, too.”

“There’s still time to go out and have dinner,” Regina suggests after a solid minute.

It’s so quiet in the room. As if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. For the longest time it’s been Regina’s sanctuary. Now, lying here with Emma, it looks like nothing has changed.

“No. This is nice,” Emma says with a firm nod. “You know, I’ve cuddled a lot of people. But you were always my favorite.”

Regina’s lip curls up. “Oh?”

“Mmhm,” Emma hums and lifts her head up to meet Regina’s gaze, eyes bright and… happy. “Snuggle Muffin, right?”

And Regina just rolls her eyes, cupping Emma’s cheek in her hand, and kisses her tenderly.

“Snuggle Muffin.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

Picture this.

There’s a grand manor located near the outskirts of New York City, fit for a successful politician. The inhabitants include a little boy who secretly likes to pretend he’s a jedi (and whose only wish is to see his mother happy, but that’s not so much of a secret anymore); his not-so-single mother who, despite the crossroads that come with falling in love, also just had the best sex of her life (with much more to come. Surely); and an ex-professional cuddler, who found a family in this little boy and his lonely mother.

So it ends like this.

(With a happily ever after. Maybe. Definitely)

Maybe this didn’t turn out to be the worst, lesbian cliché love story, after all.


End file.
